“I don’t do favors,” she’d repeated.
“You do. I saw when you took that bottle of morphine.”
“I didn’t.”
“I saw.”
How closely had he been watching her? She’d only taken a few little vials. She needed a little cash to tide her over to payday. “I never did.”
“Who do you think the warden will believe? Five prisoners will back me up.”
“Leave me alone.”
“I know you’re strapped for cash. Must be hard raising Ethan alone and his father not paying a dime for child support.”
Her frown confirmed his statement.
He smiled and laid his head back against the infirmary cot’s pillow. “I see and hear so much. I don’t sleep as much as people think these days.”
“I won’t help you.”
“When I ask you will.” And then he’d told her what he wanted.
Now, her hands trembled as they did each time she was near him. She prayed daily that the cancer would kill him, but he had a death grip on life.
He sat back in his wheelchair, his eyes closed. “It’s time for that favor, Debra.”
She shook her head. “I won’t help you.”
“We’ve discussed this before. What I’m asking is not that difficult.”
“I won’t.”
“Do this one favor for me, and I will leave you alone, Debra.” His pale face looked ghoulish when he opened his eyes and grinned.
She stiffened, terrified that one of the other nurses had heard. But as always he was careful.
“It’s a simple request.”
“I’ve already covered for you with the warden—said you were too ill to talk when he asked.”
“And I appreciate that. But that’s not the favor and you know it.”
“I could go to jail if I do this.”
“If you don’t help, I’ll see that you do go to jail. And how will you support Ethan?”
She paled and her hands trembled as she moved toward the medicine cabinet. “Don’t mention his name.”
“Just a simple favor.”
Silence hung between them. A clock on the wall ticked. A nurse came and went in the other ward.
“Yes or no, Debra?”
She swallowed. “Yes.”
The large envelope was waiting for Jo when she arrived home before nine o’clock. Balancing leftover cake and her heels in one hand and her purse in the other, she knelt and picked up the package. It had no return address or postmark. Her thoughts went first to her sister. Taxes were due soon and Ellie always had trouble with the math.
Tucking the envelope under her arm, she unlocked her front door and flipped on her lights. As she dumped her keys and purse on the table by the door, her cats sauntered out toward her, rubbing against her legs and meowing their hunger and general irritation that she’d left them for so long.
Setting her package aside, she padded into the kitchen, turning on lights as she went. She filled the cats’ food bowls, refilled their water bowls and put the kettle on the burner.
Anxious to be comfortable, she hurried to her bedroom to change into yoga pants and an oversized T-shirt. Carefully, she hung up the dress. “All that trouble and energy, and I’ll likely not wear it again.” But she’d been there for Lara, and the dress had served its purpose.
The kettle in the kitchen whistled and she fixed herself a cup of tea before sitting on the couch and setting her package and cup on the side table. Her cats gathered on the couch beside her, Atticus nudging her hand until she scratched him between his ears.
“Needing some attention, old guy?” She smiled.
The cats purred and the day’s tension melted from her muscles. She leaned her head back against the couch. Steam rose from the cup. Her muscles ached with fatigue. She didn’t want to sift through Ellie’s receipts tonight or untangle her latest financial mess. And the tea, well, she’d get to it in a minute. She closed her eyes.
When Jo opened her eyes, she had no idea how long she’d been asleep. Atticus slept on her lap but the other two had abandoned her for their nighttime retreats.
Shoving out a breath, she sat straighter, groaning at the stiffness in her neck. Carefully she settled Atticus beside her and rose, stretching her arms overhead. The clock on the kitchen stove read 4:14 A.M. She’d slept the entire night on the couch.
As the seconds passed she grew more and more alert and quickly realized she’d not be falling back to sleep. She picked up her cup of tea, now cold, and padded into the kitchen. She popped it in the microwave and hit two minutes. When the microwave dinged, she moved back to the couch. A glance to the end table reminded her that Ellie’s taxes waited.
As steam from her teacup rose, she removed the tab sealing the back flap and opened the envelope. Inside she found a collection of papers covered in a bold, dark handwriting. Not Ellie’s.
Her gaze settled on “Dear Dr. Granger.”
Quickly she flipped to the last page and saw the bold signature. “Yours sincerely, Harvey L. Smith.”
Her heart froze, and for a moment she couldn’t breathe. She traced her finger above his signature, not daring to touch it at first.
Smith had written her, solidifying her fears that there was a deeper connection between them.
Dear Dr. Granger,
You are an intelligent woman with a keen mind. Like me, you understand the nuances of so much in life. Having now read your dissertation, I realize that you see what the average person is too blind or too undeveloped to see.
For many years I’ve been keeping a mental journal of my exploits, but it has only been in the last months that I’ve thought to put pen to paper. The police would find this simple missive interesting, as it will no doubt fill in many pieces of the puzzle for them. But I wanted you, Dr. Granger, to have the first look at my work. I went to a great deal of trouble to make sure the events were as detailed as my memory could recall.
One day I hope to share this missive with you in person. I would like your thoughts when you have read through my work. I can’t say for certain when we will meet again but know that you are always in my thoughts.
Yours truly,
Harvey L. Smith
Jo’s hands shook as she stared at the letter and handwritten pages behind it. Smith was the master gamester and right now she was his latest victim.
Chapter Fourteen
Sunday, April 14, 8:00 A.M.
When Brody’s cell rang he was already at the office and making his second pot of coffee. He’d been here since six to review more videotape of Hanna and the men who bought her time.
Thanks to Hanna he had a lead to Robbie, her suspected killer. Red truck. Texas plates with the letter X and T. The search through the DMV records would take time but at least he was headed in the right direction.
Without taking his gaze from the screen, he picked up his phone without glancing at the number. “Brody Winchester.”
“This is Jo Granger.”
He sat straighter, leaning back in his chair. “Jo. Is everythi
ng all right?”
“I had a package waiting for me when I arrived home last night. I didn’t open it until this morning. It was from Harvey Smith.”
“Smith.” He tightened his grip on the phone. “Nothing should have gone out from that prison from him without Maddox knowing about it.”
“Apparently, he has connections that helped him circumvent the system.”
“Not for long.” Brody would turn that place upside down to find out who was helping Smith.
“The package contained his memoir. This is something you should read.”
“I’ll come to you.”
“That’s not necessary. I’m on the road. Are you at your apartment?”
“The office.”
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
To the second, she pulled into the Rangers’ parking lot. She parked her car right between the lines and took time to set the emergency brake though the lot was as flat as a pancake. Out of the car she locked the doors, tried the handle to double check before tucking her portfolio under her arm and moving toward him with a steady straight-backed posture. Like in college, she walked as if heading toward her grand purpose. Back in the day, he’d found her purpose-driven ways irritating. Now, he knew she’d been light-years ahead of him.
He opened the front door for her. “Come on up to my office.”
“Right.”
He followed, admiring the subtle sway of her jean-clad hips. In his office she took a seat and unzipped her portfolio. “Can I offer you coffee?”
“No. Thanks.”
He hitched his hip on the side of his desk. “What do you have?”
“A long missive from Smith. As I said on the phone it arrived at my house last night.”
“It was there, waiting for you?” He pulled rubber gloves from his pocket and yanked them on before accepting the package. He studied the envelope. It had no address or postmark, but had been at her home. “You’re the only one who has handled this since yesterday?”
She frowned. “I didn’t think about fingerprints until I opened it, and then I couldn’t stop myself from reading it.”