13

By eleven that morning, Madison had made the drive back to her house. She’d wanted to leave Kyle at the police station or at his hotel, so he could pick his rental car, but he insisted on coming back to her house. He came in with her, searching the premises—despite the fact that her part-time housekeeper, Peggy O’Rourke, was in residence. And though he was polite to Peggy—it was hard not to be, because Peggy was round, rosy-cheeked, reassuringly matronly, with a touch of her old-country accent still remaining—he gave Madison the third degree, demanding to know exactly who had keys to the house.

“Peggy does. She comes three days a week.”

“Which days?”

“It depends. We go on a week-to-week basis.”

Kyle ran his fingers through his hair, looking exasperated. “All right, who else?”

“Jassy. My father.”

“Anyone else?”

“Ummm…Kaila.”

“And?”

“Trent…maybe Rafe, I don’t remember if I gave him a key or not.”

“Why the hell did you bother with keys? Why not just ask all of Miami in?” Kyle demanded.

“I don’t always know ahead of time when I’m going to be traveling, and we have a cat, two hamsters and fish. Sometimes I call and have to hope I can catch someone just to feed the pets. And everyone I just told you is a member of my family, except—”

“Except…”

Madison hesitated. “Jimmy Gates might have a set of keys, too.”

“Jimmy Gates?”

“Jimmy is a cop. You know, sometimes he’d meet me here so I could work with him, and I couldn’t leave him just sitting outside if I was running late or—”

“Madison!” he snapped. He was losing his temper, he realized, running his fingers through his hair with such force that it was getting ragged. He shook his head, trying to gain control. “Interesting. I told Jimmy I was coming in here the other morning, and he didn’t even tell me he had a key.”

“Well, you shouldn’t break and enter,” she murmured.

“Madison, you’ve got to get your locks changed.”

“The keys all belong to people I know and trust—”

“Who might accidentally leave them lying around somewhere.”

“Kyle, you’re getting paranoid.”

“It can’t hurt. Is Peggy with you all day?”

“All day.”

“What time is Carrie Anne coming back today?”

“I get her at two o’clock.”

“All right. Come right back here and—”

“Kyle, wait! I take her out on Friday afternoons. We go to the movies, to the ice-cream parlor for dinner, or something. It’s her afternoon.”

“Fine. Call me on the cellular. Let me know where you are.”

“This is ridiculous,” she assured him.

As she spoke, his phone started ringing. He patted his pockets until he found it, flipped it open and spoke his name tersely into the mouthpiece. His eyes were on hers as he listened. She saw disgusted dismay sharpen his green gaze and new tension tighten his features.

“Pick me up at Madison’s,” he said briefly, then clicked off.

“What happened?” Madison asked.

“The tattoo artist who gave us the information about Holly Tyler is dead.”

Madison had to admit to a quickening of uneasy fear within her. “What happened?”

“Throat slashed.”

“Where was she found?”

“In her tattoo parlor.”

“Maybe it was a robbery attempt gone bad. The serial killer hasn’t been leaving his victims where they can be found. Was she a redhead?”

“Umm, more like orange. Neon orange.”

“And it’s not the middle of the month—”

“The killer is a psychopath, but a clever one. He’s able to don and doff his charm and respectability as easily as he might a coat. Usually—whenever we get lucky enough to make an arrest—this kind of killer eventually begins to lose control. He dons and doffs his coat too quickly, cracks somewhere, and becomes visible to his family or friends. But right now, I don’t think our killer is working from need or to satisfy the demands of his damaged psyche. Logic warned him that this woman had proven to be dangerous to him once and told him that she had to be silenced. Either that, or…”

“Or what?”

Kyle shrugged. “The snapshots Holly Tyler told Tammy about weren’t in her house. They were lost somewhere between home and the tattoo parlor, so to find the photos, our killer might have thought he had to get rid of Tammy. So, Madison,” he added, just as a horn began beeping outside, “you let me know where you are all day, you understand? And carry your cell phone with you at all times.”

“People get mad at you when your cell phone rings in the movies!” Madison said.

“Skip the movies, then, or let them get mad.”

“Kyle—”

“Jimmy’s out there. I’ve got to go.”

“But, Kyle, this might not even have been the same killer.”

“It was.”

“But how—”

“Because when the killer was done, he left his signature.”

“His signature?”

“He used Tammy’s own instruments to tattoo a rose on her back. Satisfied?”

Madison nodded, meeting his eyes.

“I’ll be here tonight,” he told her.

She nodded, following him to the door and watching as he met Jimmy on the front walk.

Jimmy began talking entreatingly. Kyle shook his head emphatically.

Jimmy wanted her to come with them, Madison realized.

Kyle wasn’t going to let it happen.

She closed the door softly, leaning against it. She might be able to help at the tattoo parlor or she might not. She didn’t want to go, that much she felt strongly.

Which meant that she should.

“Peggy!” she called to her housekeeper. “I’ve got to go back out.”

Peggy came walking quickly from the kitchen, dusting her hands off on her apron. She was a bundle of energy. When Madison and Carrie Anne were both out of the house or she had a hard time finding anything else to clean, she started baking.

“Shall I get Carrie Anne?”

“That might be a good idea,” Madison agreed. “The keys to my Cherokee are on the buffet there. I know, pick her up for me, then meet me in front of the movie theaters at the Falls. We can meet at three.”

“Sounds like a fine idea, dear. I’ll be there.”

Madison cracked the door open again. The two men were still arguing.

“Will Mr. Montgomery be staying here? Do you need the guest room freshened?”

Madison looked around at Peggy. “I suppose. I should leave him out here on the couch…. No, fix the guest room, I guess. Thank you, Peggy. I guess I’ve got to hurry now—I think I have to break up a fight. I’ll see you at three at the Falls!” she said, and hurried out.

“Madison only sees the victims!” Kyle was insisting angrily.

“But what she sees may be what we’re looking for!” Jimmy pleaded.

“Kyle,” Madison said from behind him.

She watched his shoulders tighten, then he turned around and stared at her.

“Kyle, it’s all right. I’m coming with you.”

“If you insist,” he said coldly, and walked ahead to Jimmy’s car, sliding into the front passenger seat.

Jimmy shrugged unhappily at Madison, then walked with her to his car, opening the rear door and ushering her in. As they drove, Kyle asked Jimmy curt questions, and Jimmy replied in kind.

Tamara Leigh Harding had been found at ten-thirty by one of her employees. The tattoo parlor had been ransacked. There were fingerprints everywhere, but the print people were already ninety-nine-and-nine-tenths-percent certain that the killer had been wearing gloves.

No murder weapon had been found at the scene or in a search of the nearby area. The coroner believed that the killer had been right-handed, seizing Tammy from behind, then slashing his knife from left to right across her throat. The killer wouldn’t necessarily be covered in blood, because the blood would have spattered forward while the killer was protected from the spray by the body of his victim. Tables, chairs, desks and records were all in disarray, yet nothing appeared to have been taken. Tammy’s purse had been dumped out on her desk, but her wallet, with approximately two hundred dollars in it, had been left undisturbed. There was almost five hundred dollars in cash in the register.