As she took out her camera, hoping to get a couple of shots before the light grew too dim, she spotted Paris at the kitchen window. Butch’s wife appeared to be doing dishes, but every once in a while she gazed out at the yard as if transfixed. Was she anxious for her husband to come in? Did she wonder where her brother was? Did any one ever bother to check on Dean’s whereabouts? Where had the old folks gone and when would they be back?
Keeping close to the fence, Francesca circled the yard, eyeing the cars that hadn’t yet been completely stripped and smashed. Very few were Priuses. And, as night set in, it became harder and harder to determine each car’s color. Terrance had said that Bianca drove a charcoal Prius. But surely, if Butch or Dean had brought her car here, they would’ve dismantled it immediately and hurried it through the destruction process. It’d been a year since Bianca had died. What were the chances that even a small remnant of her vehicle remained?
Suddenly a series of floodlights, spaced at regular intervals, snapped on in the yard. Unsure whether they were on a timer or Butch had seen her and thrown a switch, Francesca crept away from the fence and crouched behind some desert scrub, which was the best cover she could find.
“Butch?” The screen door slammed as Paris came outside. Francesca could see Mrs. Vaughn far more easily in the glaring light of those floods than when she’d been framed in that window with most of the light coming from behind her. She seemed upset. Why?
She wore a simple cotton shirt, baggy shorts and flip-flops, and her feet tapped the wooden steps of the porch as she descended into the yard. “Butch? Where are you?”
Butch poked his head out of his office. “Here.”
Paris hurried over and went inside without closing the door. As it hung halfway open, the light from inside cast a distorted triangle on the ground.
Francesca crept as close as the fence would allow. Judging by the expression on Paris’s face, something had changed. Francesca wanted to know what it was. Paris had started with, “I just got a call from…” but then she’d stepped inside and the volume of her voice had dropped too low for Francesca to hear.
The gate Francesca had used when she’d let herself onto the property the first time stood open only fifteen feet away. Wide enough for the flatbed trucks that transported clunker cars to the salvage yard, it provided easy access. If she slipped through it and sidled up to the building, she’d be able to hear everything….
But was it worth the risk of getting caught?
Considering the fact that Dean and his parents were both gone, and Demon wasn’t in the yard, that risk didn’t seem too high. Maybe Butch or Paris would say something that would give them a lead, some way to solve the terrible murders before another one occurred.
Hoping to see Jonah, to let him know what she was about to do, she glanced toward the van.
It was a mere speck on the horizon, and there was no sign of Jonah. But if she waited any longer, it would be too late. In order to hear what Paris was saying, she had to move, and she had to move now.
Seconds later, she stood inside the yard amid the car parts and scrap metal and the mannequin that’d caused such a fuss. When she rounded a heap of car frames, she could see the outline of that “body” beneath the tarp, but she chose to ignore it as well as the embarrassment her mistake had brought her. Instead of walking farther in that direction, she circled Butch’s office, coming the other way.
No matter how slowly she walked, the rocky soil crunched beneath her feet, but she wasn’t too concerned about drawing attention. Not right now. The closer she got to Butch’s office, the more obvious it became that he and his wife were deeply immersed in an argument.
“I don’t want her calling here anymore.” That was Paris.
“You said whoever it was hung up,” Butch responded.
“They did.”
“Then how do you know it was her?” He sounded as if he was trying to come across as unconcerned, but Francesca wasn’t buying it. She wondered if Paris was.
“Because she always hangs up when I answer.”
“It doesn’t make sense for Kelly to call the house, Paris. If she wanted to talk to me, she’d call my cell or the business line. And I’m telling you I haven’t heard from her since I broke it off.”
“She’s not satisfied calling your cell. She wants to involve me. She’s hoping it’ll upset me, break us up. She thinks if we get divorced she’ll have you all to herself.”
“Come on. She knows we’ll never split up. I told her that from the beginning.”
“That doesn’t mean she’s willing to accept it!”
“She has a husband and children of her own.”
“A husband she doesn’t love. Matt’s leaving her. You know that. She’s only using her children to get as much financial support from him as possible. If it wasn’t for the money, she’d walk out on them in a heartbeat, especially if she thought she could have you.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Are you sure you broke it off, Butch?”
“That’s what I told you, isn’t it?”
“Then where did these come from?”
That question resulted in the loudest silence Francesca had ever heard.
“Where’d you get those?” Butch asked at length.
“After that call, I went out and searched your truck. They were in the jockey box.”
Francesca wished she could see Butch’s face, his body language. In an attempt to do just that, she edged closer to the window but he and Paris were standing next to the desk, out of sight.
“That’s bullshit,” Butch snapped. “I’d never be stupid enough to put another woman’s panties in such an obvious place.”
“Then how did they get there?” she asked, her voice rising.
“I have no clue. But I didn’t put them there.”
“Do you recognize them?”
“No.”
“You expect me to believe that? You collect them! You use them to relive your time with the women who owned them. You probably get off just touching them!”
He sidestepped the panties issue. “I haven’t been with Kelly!”
“Then who?”
“No one!”
Paris came into view. Head down, the panties balled in her right fist, she looked completely dejected. “I can’t take any more, Butch. After everything that’s happened, after the nightmare we’ve been through, a nightmare that’ll never end, you still can’t be faithful?”