I sat on a step and fought back the wave of sorrow I felt. Who else could it be? She’d grown up in the same houses as Reyes. She’d been subjected to the same horrors. Her abuse was different from Reyes’s. Earl never touched her the way he did her brother, but he did other things. For one, he starved her to get what he wanted out of Reyes. Earl used them against each other their entire lives. What would that do to siblings? Reyes had stayed away from her when he was accused of killing Earl and made her promise not to go see him. He didn’t want her hurt any more because of him and she didn’t want anyone using her as a means to get what they wanted out of Reyes ever again, so they hadn’t seen each other in years. Yet they had a fierce love for each other and would do just about anything to protect that love. Did that include arson?
“You there, pumpkin?”
I tried to snap out of the sadness that had overtaken me. “I’m here.”
He must have sensed it anyway. “Who is it, hon?”
“What makes you think I know?”
“Have you ever heard the caveat about trying to con a con man? You know exactly who it is. You’ve suspected for a while, ever since that fire the other night.”
He was talking about the night the condemned apartment building burned. “I might know,” I admitted, my heart sinking. “I might not. I need to be certain, to check on a few things.”
“Then tell me who you suspect.”
“I can’t.”
“I thought we had an open line of communication.”
“Come on, Uncle Bob. Don’t pull the relative card on me. I’ll do the right thing. You know I will.”
“I know, hon, but —”
“Please give me some time.”
After a long pause, he caved. “You have twenty-four hours. After that, I drag your ass in for aiding and abetting.”
“Uncle Bob!” I yelped, completely appalled. “After everything we’ve been through?”
“Lives are at stake here, Charley. The next fire could kill someone. Could kill lots of someones, and I know how big that heart of yours is.”
He was wrong. My heart wasn’t big. It was just taken. “I’ll do the right thing. I promise.”
I hung up before he could make me feel worse. Damn it. Now what? Turn in Reyes’s sister? He would never forgive me. And Uncle Bob would never forgive me if another building burned and I knew who the arsonist was. What if someone did get hurt next time? That would be on my shoulders as surely as my head was.
There had to be options. I knew people who knew people. I had connections. I nibbled on a hangnail as a fail-proof plan formed. Surely my plan would work. True, my plans tended to head south from the get-go, but sometimes they made a left turn just in the nick of time and veered onto an alternate course until they almost, if one squinted hard enough, ended up in the right place. Maybe a few feet off-kilter, but close enough to call them a win in my book. No matter that my book was titled How to Call Even Your Most Dismal Failures a Win and Not Feel Guilty About It.
No. I had to think positive. This could work. This could work. I chanted that mantra over and over while unlocking the customer entrance to Davidson Investigations. Not that I wanted a customer to enter, but business was business, no matter what day it arrived. I walked through Cookie’s reception area, into my office, and straight toward the Bunn. Coffee would take the edge off. Or put in on. Either way.
After starting a pot to get me through the morning, I powered up my computer and prepared to print out the pictures I’d taken of Tidwell fondling Cookie’s right hand. They didn’t really prove anything other than the fact that Tidwell had a fondling issue and a horrendous temper, but he was definitely there for nefarious reasons. Hopefully my shots would prove that at least, and hopefully Mrs. Tidwell would not be one of those women who made excuses for her husband. Of course, she’d hired a PI for a reason. People don’t hire a PI to find out if their spouse is cheating. They hire a PI to prove it. They already know the truth, deep down inside.
I plugged in the USB cable to my phone and pulled up the shots. They weren’t pretty. They could have been, however, had I used a wide lens with a softer focus and some strategically placed lighting. Sadly, as the evening progressed, they got a little worse until all I had was a shot of Cookie’s eye and right nostril. In the upper left corner, one of Tidwell’s fists was coming at me. He tried to hit me. How did I miss that?
My phone pinged. It was a text from Cookie.
I’m not that good at cocking guns.
Really? Did she not know me at all?
I texted her back.
You can do this. Learn the cock, Cookie.
Know the cock.
Be the cock.
6
I’m not 100 percent certain, but I think my cup of coffee just said, “You’re my bitch.”
—STATUS UPDATE
I walked Cookie through a quick lesson on how to c**k a gun – or, since she was using a semiautomatic, how to chamber a round – without pinching the ever-loving crap out of herself. I’d been there. I knew the price. That steel sliding against steel was unforgiving, even on the smallest versions. She seemed to do okay once I gave her a few pointers, so I decided to do a quick search to see if I could get a hit on my new roommates. Surely there would be something about them in the news. But site after site yielded exactly squat. Nothing. Not a word about a group of murdered blond women.
“You need to go.”
I jumped and turned to the departed thirteen-year-old gangbanger standing behind me. He looked at the door, his eyes wide with barely contained panic, then back at me.