48             

The following morning Teresa came into the kitchen to start the first pot of coffee. She scooped out the coffee, stewing about her daughter. Tina’s nightmares were probably normal under the circumstances, but Teresa worried about the girl. It had taken nearly an hour to get her back to sleep after the last one. Teresa couldn’t find the bear Jeff had given Tina, which had made matters worse. The girl loved it.

While the coffee did its thing, she looked around for the bear, stopping at the closed door to Eric’s office. Eric had warned her not to let Tina go inside, but you never knew with kids. Teresa entered the room, flicking on the overhead light.

She froze at the sight of the whiteboards spread out in a semi-circle in the middle of the room, photos of women’s faces heading them. Fifteen pairs of eyes stared at her. Teresa wanted to run but stopped in her tracks. “Madre de dios!”  Locked in place, she crossed herself. The fourth woman from the left was Diane Jadzewski, a woman she used to work with. She scurried from the room, praying for Diane’s soul. She’d heard enough of their conversations to know—these women had all been murdered.

Jeff wandered into the kitchen, lured by the smell of the strong brew. Teresa stood at the stove, her arms tight about her abdomen. When she saw Jeff, she burst into a string of Spanish. He had no clue what she was saying, but knew by her hysterical speech, it wasn’t good.

“Slow down.” He took her shoulders and sat her down. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

She wrung her hands. “The pictures!”

“What pictures?”

She pointed to Eric’s office. “In there. I was looking for Tina’s bear.”

“Couldn’t you find the bear? Is that what’s wrong?”

“No, no! Not that. It’s Diane—she’s one of them!”

Jeff breathed a sigh of relief as Lisa walk into the kitchen. She’d do a much better job of handling Teresa. He told Lisa what had happened.

Teresa grew silent as Lisa explained to her that right now, they really had no idea what had happened to her friend. “We talked to her parents and they think Diane ran away because of her husband. She may be perfectly fine; we don’t know for certain what happened to any of those women.”

Teresa pressed a tissue to her face.

“Teresa,” Lisa said softly, “what can you tell us about her?”

“She was my boss. But nice person, we talked sometimes. About our men.”

“Did she tell you anything about her husband?”

Teresa sniffled into a balled-up Kleenex. “Yes. He hurts her. We talked about it sometimes. But last time I see her, she was happy. She met someone and was getting divorce.”

“Did she tell you anything about him?”

“No. Just that he very nice.”

Lisa’s hopes sank like a wet tea bag. “Anything you remember would help, Teresa. Did she say what he looked like?”

“Oh yes! I forget—she say he very handsome. Tall, big shoulders. Nice body.”

“Anything else she might have said about him? How he dressed? His car? Any tattoos? Glasses?”

Teresa hugged herself, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Nothing else.”

“Thank you, Teresa. You’ve been very helpful. We’re trying to find your friend. And all those other women. If you remember anything else, just let us know.”

Teresa sniffed, obviously relieved that the questioning was over, and went to give Tina her breakfast.

Lisa looked up. Jeff had left the room.

That night, filled with an anxiety that wouldn’t let her drift into sleep, Lisa got out of bed and walked into the living room of the small apartment. Was fear keeping her awake? Loneliness swept through her, and with it, Tyler’s face.

An excuse to call him popped into her mind—the flowers. She’d never acknowledged his gift. Forgetting there was good reason for her oversight, she opened her phone.

Tyler’s voice, thick with sleep, answered. “Hey.”

“It’s me,” she said. She heard the rustling of bedclothes. “Lisa.”

“Yeah.” His next response came lightning fast. “I miss you.”

“Me, too.” Her pride, what little remained, wouldn’t let her be the one to suggest they meet. And she couldn’t invite him to Eric’s, didn’t want him to know she wasn’t staying at her own house.

He stood waiting for her in the doorway when she pulled up at his house. They grabbed for each other the minute the door closed. His mouth met hers, hungry on lips opening to welcome him.

They made their way to his bedroom without breaking the embrace, leaving a trail of clothing in their wake. Every ounce of her being became one with him, every compartment of her brain closing off to everything but the thrilling sensation of his body melding with hers, her eagerness to feel him inside her.

Moving together with the sweet familiarity of longtime lovers, they made love with a passionate urgency. Her climax, when it came, left her with a peacefulness she’d been missing for weeks.

As she drifted off in his arms, she told herself it would only be for a minute. When she awoke and saw it was nearly 4:00 a.m., she leapt out of bed. Tyler didn’t wake up. Filled with a rush of guilt, she dressed hurriedly and ran out into the night, the dangers of being alone forgotten.

Lisa flinched at sound of the garage door opening, praying no one heard it. She opened the doorway leading to the apartment quietly, carefully disarming the alarm and resetting it behind her. She moved stealthily up to her quarters and opened the door.

Eric sat on the couch, a bottle of scotch on the coffee table in front of him. The room reeked of cigar smoke.

He stood, picking up the bottle, his dark eyes angry. “I was about to call the police before I saw your car was gone.”

She wanted to ask why he’d come up here looking for her, but thought better of it. “I’m sorry if I worried you.” Inadequate, but what could she say? She’d been lonely, horny? “I couldn’t sleep. I felt like I needed to get out, so I went for a drive.”

Eric moved toward her. When he spoke, he was close enough for her to smell the scotch on his breath. “A drive? Honey, I know what a booty trip looks like.” He snorted. “Or should I say—smells like.”

Unable to deny his words, Lisa’s face heated with embarrassment. “I said I’m sorry.” She sniffed the air and muttered, “Surprised you can smell anything.”

“You’re sorry. I worked late tonight because I spent the morning at Danielle’s funeral. You know, the woman who was murdered in place of you? But you must have forgotten that in your rush to see your young stud.”

“Eric, I know you must be hurting—”

He cut her off. “You don’t know shit! And don’t start throwing your psychology bullshit at me. All that therapy crap ever did for me was cost thousands of dollars and Kayla was still fucked up. It didn’t stop them from sucking up the money, though, even when it did nothing for her.”

When her tears came, Lisa had no idea why. For Eric, Danielle, Kayla, herself?

Eric’s face reddened in a burst of fury. “Oh, sure, cry now.” He turned from her, walking to the door.

Lisa grabbed his arm. “Please, let’s talk about this.”

He pulled away from her. “You disgust me,” he said, slamming the door behind him.

49             

The number of people who straggled in for Thanksgiving dinner amazed Lisa. TJ’s sister, Janeen, turned out to be so unlike TJ, Lisa could hardly believe they were related. The cocoa-complexioned woman was soft spoken, her slightly plump body crowned by a head of short braids tipped with tiny red beads dangling about her smiling face when she talked.

The wonderful aroma of roasting turkey filled the kitchen as Janeen handed Lisa a casserole dish brimming with sweet potatoes topped with marshmallows, and another with her homemade cranberry relish. Her children, Lonnie, five, and Jazz, seven, carried in a large, cardboard box filled with games.