“Of course, now that I’ve found it.”
She listened for proof that Dean wasn’t alone but couldn’t hear anything—no voices, no television, no car engine in the background. “I appreciate that. Where was it?”
“In the salvage yard, just like you thought. Isn’t that strange? I don’t know how we missed it.”
Could Dean really expect her to believe it had been overlooked, when she knew exactly where she’d dropped it and under what circumstances?
What was going on here? Was Dean trying to do her a favor? Or was he somehow in league with Butch?
“Your wallet’s inside and everything,” he added, as if she should be inordinately pleased.
“And my phone?”
“Yep. That, too.”
“How’d you get my number?”
“It’s on your checks.”
Of course. Her address was there, too. Her business cards provided her office information. Her telephone contained a complete list of all her friends, clients and associates, as well as a detailed calendar of upcoming appointments. Her video card gave the location where she rented her movies. Her key ring held the supersaver card for her local grocery store. Heck, anyone who got hold of her purse could even tell what kind of tampons she used.
She’d never considered just how much information her purse might reveal about her—until she’d lost it.
“Would you like to come by and pick it up?” Dean was saying.
Had he forgotten what had occurred during her last visit? This guy wasn’t quite…normal. He acted as if she and Butch liked each other, as if there’d never been any trouble. “I don’t think so, Dean. That brother-in-law of yours is a bit too dangerous for me to feel comfortable walking onto the property again.”
“Oh, Butch won’t care if you come. He told me I could call you.”
She felt her eyebrows slide up. “He did?”
“Of course. He doesn’t need a woman’s purse.” He laughed as though he found the words Butch and purse in the same sentence incredibly funny.
So why would Butch return her belongings? Because he already had all the information he could get and wanted to draw her back to Prescott? Or was there another reason for making it available to her?
“Are you coming?” he asked.
She’d already canceled her credit cards; it was too late to save them. But she could sell her old iPhone, and she’d spent nearly three hundred dollars on the purse itself. Then there was her driver’s license. Just avoiding a trip to the DMV was worth trying to make some sort of arrangement. “Can you meet me somewhere off-site?”
She hoped that by getting Dean alone and away from the watchful eye of his brother-in-law, she might be able to talk to him. If Butch was really the person who’d killed all those people in Dead Mule Canyon, the members of his household must have noticed something amiss.
“I don’t know about that,” Dean hedged. “Butch said to have you pick it up here.”
“I could ask the police to get it for me.”
“No, I don’t think he wants the police to come back.”
Was this a personal challenge, then? Was Butch trying to determine how frightened she was? Whether or not he’d managed to cow her with his middle-of-the-night appearance and the stomach-turning proof of what he’d done to April Bonner?
If so, making her fearful had to be important to him. It was possible that he intended to strip away her sense of well-being and security, make her paranoid, before he finished her off. In that case, she probably stood a better chance of putting off a life-and-death encounter if he believed he hadn’t yet attained his goal.
He hadn’t, had he? Okay, so she didn’t go home tonight. And maybe she spent too much time looking over her shoulder and jumping at anything that moved—like that damn cat. But she wasn’t about to let him win whatever he’d started between them. “So what are you saying?”
“You can pick it up here if you want it.”
Her mind ran through various scenarios. She supposed she could go in with a wire, have the police waiting in the wings in case of trouble. Maybe Butch would threaten her or do something that would make it possible for Finch and Hunsacker to arrest him. Getting him off the street would certainly be worth the risk, especially if they could hold him until they gathered enough evidence to prosecute him for April’s murder.
“Fine,” she said. “When?”
“Tomorrow?”
“What time?”
“First thing in the morning.”
“Ten is the earliest I can make it. As Butch knows, from having driven to my house yesterday, I live two hours away.”
“Are you hoping I’ll confirm that he was gone?”
“And if I am?” Dean was odd. Different. Would his testimony even help?
“I was sound asleep last night,” he said.
“And the other nights? He’s left before. I’m sure of it.”
“I don’t want to talk about Butch. There are too many other interesting subjects.”
“Like…”
“Your friends.”
“What about them?”
“They’re really nice. And they think so highly of you. You should be proud.”
Francesca brought a hand to her chest. “What are you talking about?”
“Adriana and Josephine and Heather. I like them all.”
Josephine was her aging neighbor. After having both knees replaced two weeks ago, she could barely get around. No way could she defend herself against someone like Butch. “How would you know my friends?” she breathed.
“I called them earlier, when I was trying to get hold of you. I went through your address book. I like the way you categorize. You make it easy to tell friends from clients. I even left a message at your office with that nice Heather person who said she’s your assistant.”
What the heck? Bracing the phone with her shoulder, Francesca shuffled through the messages she’d set aside. Sure enough, there was one from Dean Wheeler. Because it didn’t mention her purse—just his name and number—it wouldn’t have meant a thing to her even if she’d seen it.
“I’m glad you kept the same cell number,” he said. “You never pick up at home.”
Could he be as oblivious as he was making it sound? Or was he laughing at her? “The line’s been cut.”
“Really?”
Had he already known? She couldn’t quite tell…. “Really.”