“Guess you’re right.” She left him with the dog and his game, then made her way up the stairs, where she saw the hole in the wall that had been there since Jeremy had put his fist through it a few years back. She’d left it, hoping that the gaping opening would be a reminder for him to control his temper, but he never seemed to notice it. Sooner or later, she’d have to patch it ... or find the right-sized picture to cover it.
On the main level, she tapped on Bianca’s door and pushed it open. Her daughter was seated at her makeup table, applying another layer of mascara while simultaneously texting God only knew how many friends. Her hair was braided, the red highlights visible in her thick strands. She’d dyed her hair every color under the sun, but now, gratefully, it was back to what was near her natural color.
In the reflection, Bianca’s gaze found her mother’s. “Yeah?”
“I’ve got to go out for a while.”
Bianca rolled her eyes, concentrated on making her lashes longer and stronger and all gunked up. “What else is new?”
“We’ll have family dinner tomorrow. I promise.”
Bianca lifted a shoulder. “Whatever.”
“Look, Alvarez was nearly shot tonight. Attacked in her garage.”
Bianca’s mascara wand stopped in midair. She didn’t so much as look at her phone for the next text. “Is she okay?”
“I think so. But I’m going to make sure.”
“Oh, God, Mom.” Bianca blinked, then spun on her tufted stool to look directly at Pescoli. “This is awful.”
“I know, but she’ll be fine.”
“You should give up being a cop!” Her perfectly plucked eyebrows drew together over her large eyes. “It’s too dangerous. Dad and Michelle, they think so, too!”
“All part of the job.”
“But you could retire and ... and work in a bookstore ... Or if you don’t like that ... somewhere else.”
“I’m a little young to be retiring. It’s okay, Bianca.” She walked into the pink room, where Christmas lights were wound year-round on the posts that supported the canopy of her bed. “But I think I’d better make sure she’s okay.”
Bianca nodded, and just like she had with her son, Pescoli caught a hint of the woman this girl would become and it wasn’t all braids and pink ribbons and boys and nail polish. “Dinner’s on the stove,” she said, giving her the same rundown as she’d said to Jeremy five minutes earlier. “I should be back in a couple of hours.” And again, as she had with her son, Pescoli heard that Bianca had plans to be out with her friends at a movie and that Candi’s mom was driving them, as none of them yet had their licenses. “Just be back before midnight,” Pescoli had instructed as Bianca had swiveled back to the mirror and picked up her cell phone, her fingers dancing over the keys.
Spoiled, Pescoli thought. You’ve spoiled them.
“But they’ll be all right.” She said it under her breath as much to convince herself as anything.
“I’m fine. Seriously.” Alvarez glanced from her partner to Grayson and back again. “Other than tired and hungry, that is.” They were standing in Grayson’s office with O’Keefe, his face discolored from his emerging bruises, scrapes visible on his cheeks and nose. His lip was split, and soon, he’d have a shiner, as the area around his left eye was darkening. Still, he’d refused to go to the hospital or receive any serious medical attention. “I’ve filled out a report,” Alvarez insisted. “Green is in custody, and there’s nothing more to do once the crime guys are done with my garage and car.”
“Shouldn’t take long. We’ll process everything and get your wagon to a shop at the beginning of the week,” Grayson said, though the sheriff was clearly troubled. He looked tired, the result no doubt of the emergence of yet another serial murderer in Grizzly Falls. “I just don’t like how this all went down.”
“Neither do I.” O’Keefe folded his arms over his chest. “How the hell did that son of a bitch find you?”
“Matter of public record,” Alvarez said. The problem was that records were so much more accessible now with computers, smartphones and all the data on the Internet. “It’s not rocket science.”
“That’s the problem,” Grayson said, shaking his head. He’d allowed O’Keefe to be a part of this conversation at Alvarez’s insistence, but it was obvious he wasn’t comfortable with the fourth person in the room. O’Keefe wasn’t a working cop and he’d made no bones about the fact that he’d been spending time with Alvarez. Though, Alvarez thought, O’Keefe had insisted that his relationship with her was strictly professional, everyone in the room knew that wasn’t quite true. Grayson hadn’t become sheriff because he looked the part of a roguish cowboy-type lawman. He had the degrees and work experience to back him up and a natural cunning that saw through BS when he encountered it. That quality, along with his easygoing cowboy allure, had all but captured Alvarez’s heart. He looked at her now. “I don’t like you going home alone.”
“I’ll be fine.” She was serious. “Green’s behind bars.”
Unconvinced of her mental state, Grayson stroked his moustache. “There’s always the next nutcase.”
“Part of the job.” Alvarez voiced the obvious, but everyone in the room knew the risks, had lived them by being members of a law enforcement agency. “Green’s the one who was the most vocal about getting to me.”
“There are others. Silent ones,” Grayson said. “They could be the most deadly.” His eyes darkened, his crow’s-feet seeming more prominent. “Your home was already broken into, some of your things stolen. Less than a week ago. I don’t think that was Green.”
“It wasn’t,” Alvarez said.
“And an earring that was taken from your place ended up at a major crime scene,” he prompted. His hips were balanced against the edge of his desk, hands holding him in place, dog at his feet.