Carefully, he replaced the pillow exactly where he had found it. He knew she was the type of woman who noticed the small details.
He was the same. They shared the same quirks and mannerisms. So much alike. So much shared past.
Crossing the standard beige carpet, he lifted his toolbox and headed down the stairs to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. She kept a small bottle of milk, a carton of eggs, and a few apples. The pantry was filled with a few staples, including a dozen cans of tuna fish.
When he closed the door, his gaze was drawn to a picture of Melina taken with an older man and woman. She called them Mom and Dad, but they were not her real parents or family. He was her family. He snapped a picture of the image. He took a video of the entire residence.
He had been keeping tabs on her for years, but this was the first time he had stepped into her space. Not wanting to intrude was important to him. But until Bonnie left town, it was best he kept a closer eye on his kid sister.
He sat down on the leather couch, glanced over the article in the open Forensic Magazine and then toward the television. A click of the remote brought up a home decorating channel.
She was not any more interested in picking up a paintbrush or making curtains than he was, but images of cozy homes comforted her. He was exactly the same. Stress always sent him into furniture stores, where he wandered from room to room, imagining what each piece would look like in that nice cozy home he was building just for the two of them.
He leaned back on the couch, closed his eyes, and smoothed his fingers over the plush leather. They had been apart for too long, and it was time their family reunited. Only then would he feel whole.
The complication now was Bonnie. So far, she was keeping her mouth shut and had not told the cops about the jar. But he was too smart to believe that Bonnie was finished with him. She had said she wanted to help him and to make things right. He did not believe her. She would never leave until she had what she wanted.
Bonnie was also enjoying jerking him around. She had always gotten a kick out of hearing him say he needed her right before she took off. A part of him still wanted her to stay. Still savored the way she kissed his cheek when he had been good. And a part of him wanted to be a family again.
Sonny cursed. He knew women like her broke men’s hearts for sport. And he was finally smart enough not to let it happen again. He should have killed her when he had the chance, but the kid had stopped him. He did not know where Bonnie had found the girl but damned if she was not a carbon copy of Melina.
“Fuck you, Bonnie,” he muttered. “You’re not going to play me.”
This time would be different. He was in control.
He drew in a breath, smoothing his hand over the sofa’s creased, worn leather. He shifted his thoughts back to Melina. His sister. His blood.
This is where Melina sat when she was home. He imagined for a moment what it would be like to sit beside her like he used to.
The sense of peace was fleeting. Because, as always, images of Bonnie crept back into the dream. Bonnie had ruined everything in his life he had loved, and this time it would be different.
Pushing to his feet, he removed a small camera from his toolbox. Carefully, he crossed to an air vent in the wall, unfastened the screws, detached the grate, and placed the camera just inside. He checked his phone to make sure the camera was transmitting and, when he confirmed it, replaced the covering. Taking an extra moment, he wiped up the few specks of dust that had fallen out and scooped the particles up and dropped them into his box.
Standing at the threshold and looking back, he inhaled, drinking in her scent one last time, and then closed the door behind him. The cat was gone. The curtains in the unit next door were still, and there was no activity in the parking lot.
With a renewed sense of purpose, he strode toward his car. For the first time in years, he did not feel lonely.
Bonnie tugged her sheer blouse over her black bra and glanced over her shoulder at Ralph. He lay on the motel bed, as naked as the day he was born and passed out cold.
When she had coaxed him back here, she had stripped and slid her hands down his pants and taken that man to places he had only dreamed about. If Bonnie could do anything well, it was screw a man silly. When he had fallen asleep, she had dug a few tranquilizers from her purse and ground them into a fine powder. She then made coffee in the motel coffee maker and waited for him to stir at the aroma. He took two sugars and two creamers. She had smiled when he’d said he had to get back to work. To buy time for the sedatives, she had taken his nearly empty cup and given him a blow job. Five minutes later, he was out.
She had done the same with her late husband. There were times when he had gotten drunk and had been ready to whale on her, Sonny, or Melina. She had protected those kids then, not only because she liked them but also because they did not need the cops on their doorstep. All in all, she had done a good job until she had fucked up with Melina and then later Sonny. Maybe she was getting sentimental in her old age, but she had a chance now to make it right for both of them.
She rummaged in his pants pocket and dug out his keys and wallet. She fished out the bills and a credit card and left the rest for him. She liked Ralph and did not want to put the old boy through a trip to the DMV for a replacement license. That was just plain cruel, even for her.
She figured he would be out for twelve hours before he woke up and reported it. Smiling, she tucked the card in her back pocket. Bonnie could do a lot of damage in twelve hours.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Thursday, August 27, 3:00 p.m.
Melina sat in her car checking emails outside of Red’s, waiting for it to open. She had barely scrolled through a couple when her phone rang. It was Ramsey.
“Yes,” she said quickly.
“The driver of the white van removed the VIN numbers from the dashboard and the door and the engine block,” he said without fanfare.
She relaxed back against the headrest. “You sound a little too happy. Something tells me this story doesn’t end here.”
“The former owner also took the initiative to etch the VIN number on the underside of the engine block.”
“That’s my kind of paranoid.”
“A trace of the vehicle shows it was purchased in Atlanta, Georgia, ten years ago from a used car dealership.”
She waited for the punch line.
“Long story short, the van was traced to a man by the name of Edward Mecum.”
“And who is Mr. Mecum? Assuming that’s his real name.”
“That’s what we’re trying to determine, but according to an FBI database search, he has no criminal record.”
“I don’t hear dejection in your voice.” She ran her fingers over the steering wheel, watching as a group of middle-aged tourists entered one of the landmark cowboy boot shops on the street.
“I contacted the car dealership in Atlanta.”
“And?”
“No record of sale for the older van, but the manager did say that he sold a similar white van this morning to a man who paid cash. The buyer’s name was Edward Mecum and he had a limp.”
She had jabbed that knife hard into his thigh and twisted it for good measure. She took some satisfaction knowing she had hurt him good.
“I don’t suppose Edward Mecum gave the dealer an address?”
“He was required to.”
She leaned forward. “And?”
“I have an address of a property that’s located thirty miles outside of Nashville.”
“You know how to make a girl’s day.” A man flipped the CLOSED sign to OPEN in the Red’s window.
“How soon can you meet me?” he asked.
“Give me a half hour,” she said. “I’m on Lower Broadway. Just spoke to Jennifer Brown’s boss and want to follow up on a lead. I’ll update you when I see you.”
“I’ll pick you up at the office.”
“Bring burgers. I’m starving.”
He chuckled. “Will do.”
She grabbed her bag, slid out of the car, and strode toward the bar’s entrance. She was greeted by the faint scent of beer and cigarettes. There was a long bar covered in a thick coat of polyurethane. Behind it, rows of liquor bottles peered down from terraced shelves. Above the bottles was a collection of red cowboy hats.
“Hello?” she said.
A man pushed through swinging doors, wiping gnarled hands on a bar towel as he approached her. A sweep of his gaze seemed to be enough to tell him she was not here for a drink. “What can I do for you?”
She held up her badge and identified herself as TBI. “Came to ask you about a customer. Her name is Jennifer Brown. She dated a bartender by the name of Billy.”
He nodded. “Blond. Big boobs.”
“She’s in her late thirties.”
“Yeah, I remember her. What do you want to know?”
“Was there anyone here who hassled her or maybe paid her too much attention?”
“She was a flirt. Knew how to use those tits to get men to pay attention. But she was dating Billy and stayed close to the bar.”
“And after they broke up, did she keep coming around?”
“Yeah. Saw her in here about two weeks ago. She left with a guy, but I couldn’t tell you who he was.”
“You have surveillance cameras in here?”
“I do, but the recording only lasts two weeks.”