Kendall thanked her. She didn’t tell her that the county was rife with desperate people who would do just about anything to survive-and stay out of the reach of the law. Picking brush was far from the worst endeavor she could imagine.
With Josh Anderson away at the academy speaking about his experiences investigating rural crimes, detectives’ row in the Kitsap County Sheriff’s office was far quieter than usual. Almost pin-drop hushed. Two were out in the field, running down drug cases, and a third was working the third murder of the year, the case of a Seabeck woman who’d been arrested for the killing of a woman she and her husband had picked up after a night of partying at the Bethel Saloon. The tavern was a Kitsap classic, a rough-around-the-edges biker-type bar that shared a parking strip with a butcher, Farmer George’s, frequently prompting a retort about the two establishments’ close proximity:
“Wonder which is the bigger meat market?”
“Judging by the looks of some of those biker babes hanging around the pool tables, I’d say there’s more gristle at the Bethel than at Farmer George’s.”
Kendall Stark had felt genuine concern coming from Tulio Pena when he spoke about Celesta. She’d seen the way a husband or boyfriend can try to emulate devotion or worry by saying the right words. Sometimes they even eke out a tear to punctuate the moment with a display of emotion that is supposed to support their position as a loving partner.
“I don’t know why she did this to me.”
“I had no idea she was unhappy.”
“All I ever did was love her.”
Kendall just didn’t see a false note when Tulio gave his statement. Even so, something troubled her greatly, and there was no way to really dismiss it. The reporting deputy noted in the initial missing-person report that Celesta Delgado’s purse had been left behind in the van.
Inside the purse were the three main indicators of an abduction or a homicide: Celesta’s cell phone, keys, and wallet.
No woman running away leaves those things, she thought.
It was around five when Kendall found her husband and son in the plaza of the Kitsap County Administration Building. Steven had a client meeting that evening, and they’d planned on an early dinner. A few clouds had rolled in, obscuring the Olympics and turning what had been a lovely afternoon into what promised to be a cool spring evening.
Cody’s face lit up when his mother emerged from the Sheriff’s Office walkway. “Mommy! I see you!” he said.
Kendall beamed and ran toward her son with outstretched arms. Some days there were no words, just the rocking of a small body as he looked at her with eyes that seemed empty of recognition.
“Hi, you two,” she said.
“Ready for a dinner out?” Steven asked, his broad white smile another salvo to her heart.
“Yes, I am,” she said, scooping up Cody. “Pancakes, everyone?”
Cody smiled.
Whenever they went out, they’d have pancakes at the same restaurant, in the same booth.
“Make mine banana pecan,” Steven said with a wink.
“Strawberry for me.” Kendall shot back.
It was always banana pecan, strawberry, and blueberry. Each member of the Stark family had a prescribed meal, time, and place. To deviate was to cause unease and ruin what was a pleasant dinner-or, in this case, breakfast-out.
“How’s your day going?” Steven asked.
“Oh, you know.” She set Cody down and gave her husband a quick peck. “Kind of slow.”
“Any sign of the missing girl?”
Kendall and Steven talked shop only on the most cursory level. He’d tell her if he closed a big ad sale; she’d mention if a perp had been nailed or a case stymied. But she didn’t like to bring her work into their personal lives. They’d agreed to take his car to eat, then drive back to the Sheriff’s Office parking lot so Kendall could take Cody home.
“I’m worried about her,” she said, sliding into the passenger seat of the nine-year-old red Jeep Wrangler that they’d purchased just slightly used a couple of years after Cody was born. Despite his age and size, Cody was secured in a car seat, behind his parents.
“I thought she bolted. I mean, Jesus, she was working two jobs. I’d leave town too.” Steven glanced at Cody in the rearview mirror. He was watching the world slip by his window.
“Josh talked to Celesta’s sister in El Salvador. She’s as worried as Tulio is.”
“Boyfriend troubles, maybe?” he asked, turning onto Sidney Avenue and heading south to Tremont.
Kendall turned on a CD, a Raffi recording that Cody loved. She turned around, hoping to catch a smile, but the little boy just stared out the side window.
“I really don’t know. Can we talk about something else?”
“I drove over to Inverness this afternoon,” Steven said. “Just to check it out.”
Kendall felt his words stab at her, although she knew Steven meant no harm. The idea of the alternative school for their son hadn’t really set in yet. She wasn’t ready for it to set in.
“I thought we’d do that together,” she said.
Steven let a sigh pass from his lips. He took his eyes off the road and looked at her.
“I was making a run up to Bainbridge to meet with an advertiser. It was on the way home.”
“I see. I guess that makes sense,” Kendall said, looking away.
Why are you pushing this? she thought. Putting him there is one step closer to saying he’s never going to get better.
As much as she loved Steven, there was no doubt there was a wall between them. She knew that some walls can never be scaled. Not even with all the love in the world.
Chapter Eight
April 1, 10 a.m.
East Bremerton , Washington
The Azteca was a quintessential cookie-cutter Mexican restaurant, one of the type that sprouted all over America around the time that salsa overtook ketchup as the country’s bestselling condiment. Frothy frozen margaritas in flavors that God (or a decent bartender) had never intended-peach mint, cantaloupe, and blackberry-and tortilla chips warm from the deep fat fryer, served until the meal itself becomes an afterthought.
Kendall took a call from an Azteca busboy named Scott Sawyer, looked at her watch, and decided she’d head north from Port Orchard and time it for lunch. Josh was out pursuing a lead on a drug dealer near Wye Lake, so she drove up alone.
“I have something important to tell you,” Scott had said in a voice that cracked in a way that suggested he was barely out of puberty. “It’s really important. About the case you’re working on.”
“Can you give me a hint?” she asked, wanting to find out before she left if the kid had anything worth telling.
“Celesta had something going on here with another waiter. Tulio was so mad I thought he was going to kill her.”
That was certainly enough for the drive up the highway to Bremerton.
Peeling off his apron, Scott Sawyer slid into an orange and brown vinyl booth in the back of the restaurant. He was blond, pale, and as lanky as an orchard ladder. He introduced himself and apologized for keeping her waiting. She’d had to tell the server twice she didn’t want any more chips, although she’d barely touched her basket. She wondered if anyone ate the red and green chips, a tip of the hat, or rather sombrero, to Mexico ’s flag.
To Kendall, it always seemed more like a nod to Christmas.
“First off, I just want you to know that everyone here really likes Celesta. She’s our best hostess by far. She trained me.”
Kendall smiled. “I’ve heard nice things about her.”
“When the boss remodeled the restaurant in Port Orchard, she was the one he selected to hostess the grand reopening.”
The waitress brought a taco salad and silently set it in front of her. For a second, Kendall thought she detected the server rolling her eyes slightly. It was subtle and could have been a nervous tic.