Josie laughed as she caught up to the big frog of a man with the heart of a prince.
But just as Jimmy was opening the door, they heard a car approaching and turned to watch Zach pull into her driveway. Josie’s heart did a little leap in her chest as he got out, watching as he moved with that masculine grace of his toward where they stood.
Her brow dipped when she noticed the look on his face and apparently Jimmy noticed his partner’s mood too because he stepped forward, asking, “Everything all right?”
Zach didn’t answer for a minute as he climbed the steps, turning toward Josie. Her breath stalled. Oh God, something was terribly wrong. “What is it?” she managed to breathe.
“Josie, come on in the house and—”
“No. Tell me now. What is it?”
His eyes shot to Jimmy quickly and then back to her. “It’s your mother. She was found dead in her home.”
Josie reached out, grabbing the railing next to her. “What? I don’t . . .” She shook her head. “How?”
His eyes were trained on her so intently, she swore she could feel his gaze. “She was murdered. Strangled.”
“What?”
Zach looked at Jimmy again and then back over his shoulder at the empty road, clearly visible in both directions. It was empty. “Let’s go inside.”
Josie allowed Zach to guide her into the kitchen where they all took a seat at the large farmhouse table. Josie found a divot in the surface and moved her finger over it, using the small texture in the wood to ground her. “I don’t understand,” she said. “Strangled?” She met Zach’s eyes. “So it’s not related to the copycat? It’s just . . . random?”
“No. It’s related. Casus belli was carved into her thigh. It was the only thing that appeared similar, but we’re operating on the theory that this is the same man who killed Aria Glazer and Miriam Bellanger.”
“But why?” she asked, her voice emerging on a choked whisper. “Why my mother? Why strangle her when he starved the other two women?”
“I don’t know.” He paused again, and she could tell he was going to say something else he was hesitant about. “We won’t know all the details of your mother’s death for at least a few days. But there was something clearly visible on the body.” He paused again. Giving her time to brace? “Your mother was burned repeatedly by a lit cigarette before death.” Josie’s throat tightened, her stomach quivering with sickness. “The burns were on her face and on her genitals. They were . . . extensive.”
Oh God. Josie brought her hand to her mouth. Burned? With a cigarette?
“I’m so sorry, Josie.” Zach’s voice penetrated the thick fog that seemed to have taken hold of her brain. Her thoughts felt muddy, unclear.
She shook her head. “We . . . we weren’t close, you know that.” She looked up at him and saw Jimmy give him a look in her peripheral vision too. “But to know she suffered that way . . .” She shook her head again as though if she did it enough, she could deny that this had really happened.
“I know,” Zach said. He reached across the table. Her gaze moved to his large hands covering her smaller ones. They were warm and strong, his fingers slender, nails short and blunt. She wanted to lay her cheek on those hands, get lost in the solidity of him. The warmth. He squeezed her hands and then pulled his own away. “I need to talk to Jimmy for a few minutes. Can I make you some tea?”
She shook her head, though a small smile tipped her lips up at the memory of him making her tea a few days before. He’d clearly never made tea in his life. It’d been weak, terrible, and she’d been grateful for every sip. “No, thank you. You two go talk. I’m okay. I need to keep my hands busy.”
They both stood and, as Jimmy walked toward the door, he put his hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you, Jimmy. And thank you again for your help today.”
They went out the front door and she heard their murmured voices on the porch. They were obviously trying to be quiet so she wouldn’t overhear what they were talking about. In a daze, Josie made herself a cup of tea, more for something warm to wrap her hands around than that she actually wanted to drink tea right then. She took it into the living room and sat staring out the window. He burnt her with cigarettes? Why? It’s your fault he left me, you worthless girl! This burn you feel? It’s nothing compared to what you did to my life. Should have thrown you out with the trash, because that’s what you are!
The memory of those words still scalded, far more than the burns ever had. The burns had scarred her flesh, the blame for simply living had scarred her heart.
A few minutes later, her front door opened and closed, she heard the lock turn, and Zach came into the room. “You okay?” he asked gently, coming to sit next to her.
“Yes. I will be. I’m just . . . I can’t believe this. I just saw her,” she said. “I mean, you know that. It’s just . . . surreal. And, Zach, I . . . I need to tell you something.” She felt cold, despite the warm mug held in her hands. Cold and sick and afraid.
“What is it?”
Josie set her mug down, turning slightly and lifting the back of her shirt so Zach could see her lower back. His silence rang loudly behind her, and she refused to look back. She felt his gaze on her ruined skin. “Who did that to you?” he asked after a moment, and his voice was strange, tight.
She lowered her shirt and turned back to him, still feeling exposed though her skin was covered as were the scars she’d only willingly shown one other person. His expression was shuttered. “My mother.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw, and he reached up and ran his index finger over his bottom lip as though taking a moment to either think of what to say or temper his reaction. “You said she was a mean drunk. Are those”—he lowered his eyes and nodded to her torso—“part of what you meant?”