The fancy town house, the luxury automobile, the role of the future mayor’s wife.
Jack was good at many things, but he wasn’t good at forgiving, and he never quite forgot.
“How about some after-dinner coffee?” his mother asked brightly. “Or would you like tea? I have jasmine, mint, English breakfast and chamomile. Or maybe you’d like some cognac, I think your father has cognac. Don’t you have cognac, Ben?”
“Coffee would be perfect, Mom. Here, why don’t you sit for a change and let me help you.”
“Oh, no, no. You just stay right there. I know where everything is, it will only be a minute. It’s not every day you come to see us. The least I can do is brew you some coffee.”
Jack watched her bustle away, her movements nervous and jerky. When she pulled out the coffeepot it shook in her hands.
“It’s all right,” Ben said softly beside him. “The blackout was tough for her, but she’s doing pretty well these days. Sleeping through the nights.”
“That’s good.”
“It has been five years since…since that woman,” Ben said abruptly. He always referred to Marjorie as simply “that woman.” “You made a mistake marrying her, Jack, but that’s all right. You were young and she was beautiful and had that effect on men. Now, Josie Reynolds… Mark my words, Jack, she’s special. Tough as nails, works harder than a dog and beautiful from the inside out. She’s who you need. A girl like that will really challenge you. Take her to the fund-raiser. Give dating a chance.”
“Not you, too, Dad,” Jack groaned.
“On some things, your mother is right.”
Betty returned. She handed out the cups of coffee, then passed around the cream and sugar. They drank the coffee in silence, and as always, Betty’s gaze was on Tom’s chair.
Chapter Three
Jack spent the next three days getting back to basics. He’d gotten a degree in criminology because it appealed to his methodical mind. Police work wasn’t sexy and it wasn’t instinctive. It was science. First you studied the crime scene, looking at MO, weapon and trace evidence. Then you analyzed the area where the crime took place—what kind of economics and demographics? Were you looking at a high-crime area or low-crime area? Was it racially homogenous or mixed? Then you did a profile of the victim. Was it a low-risk victim or a high-risk victim? Known friends, known enemies, major events going on in her life? Finally, you boiled all that information down, and if all went well, you had a list of potential suspects to interrogate. You got to go hunting.
The crime scene gave them nothing: no hair, no fiber, no prints, no weapon. The storm had obscured any footprints that may have been. Nothing had been stolen or disturbed. The area—upper class, white, suburban—told them only that their suspect was probably white and well-groomed, otherwise, someone would’ve noticed him or her. In Grand Springs, however, white, middle-class suburbanites were a dime a dozen. Olivia’s neighborhood was quiet and safe, not the kind of place where random murders just happened.
In short, Olivia’s murder had not been about theft. It had not been gang-related nor drug-related. It had been personal. It had been planned by someone sophisticated enough to know about pure potassium and how to inject it into a strong, healthy woman.
Jack pursued the only other option he had left—he focused on the victim, Olivia.
In the course of three days, he retraced her last twenty-four hours and the people and events influenced along the way. It took a while. Olivia had been a very active woman.
On June 5, her day began with an 8:00 a.m. meeting with her personal secretary, the school board, and a representative from D.A.R.E. talking about starting an anti-drug program in the high school. At nine, Olivia had left for a general meeting with the city council. The minutes revealed that they’d focused primarily on the issue of strip mining. That meeting had overrun half an hour due to heated debate. According to attendees, Olivia had remained steadfastly opposed to strip mining, tabling the initiative.
Now running late, Olivia had barely made it to the Chamber of Commerce luncheon in time to speak. She’d finished there at one and driven straight to the women’s shelter, where she’d spent an hour playing with the children and talking to the mothers. According to Denise Eagan, head of the shelter, Olivia tried to spend at least an hour a week at the shelter. They had been talking about the possibility of opening a second to get more beds. Olivia had promised to speak to the city council about funding.
At three o’clock Olivia had returned to her office. She’d spent two hours on the phone. Her administrative assistant didn’t have information on all the calls, but according to the phone records most of them were to various businesses and local charities. She’d made one call to her home, where her daughter, Eve, and five-year-old granddaughter, Molly, were visiting for Hal’s wedding.
Olivia had rushed out of the office promptly at five-thirty, changed into a pale lavender suit, and made it to the Squaw Creek Lodge just in time for the wedding rehearsal. Afterward, the wedding party had gone out for dinner. Olivia had toasted her son and his intended bride, Randi Howell. Eve said Olivia had looked tired from her day, but otherwise her mother had been as calm and composed as ever. She’d told jokes, she’d mingled with Randi’s family.
Eve hadn’t noticed anything unusual.
They’d retired right after dinner. Everyone wanted to get a good night’s sleep before the big day. Friday morning Olivia had gotten up early with Eve and Molly. Olivia and Molly had just finished eating cereal when Eve came downstairs. They’d talked some, about nothing in particular. Olivia had said how nice it was to have Eve at home again. She’d thought Molly was growing up fast and beautiful. Eve could tell her mother was wondering if Eve would ever tell Rio Redtree that Molly was his daughter, but on Friday June 6, Olivia kept those opinions to herself.
She and Eve had wrapped wedding presents, cleaned the house in preparation for guests and then they’d gotten ready to go. At the last minute, still searching for her other earring, Olivia had told Eve to take Molly and go ahead. She’d be there shortly. The storm was already moving in at that point. The rain and wind had picked up. They’d both remarked how unfortunate it was that the weather couldn’t be better for the wedding.
Eve had bundled up Molly and the two of them had left.
Eve never saw Olivia alive again.
Jack went over it and over it. He was beginning to dream about Olivia Stuart’s life at night. He still couldn’t figure out what they were missing.
For all intents and purposes, Olivia Stuart had been an active mayor and caring mother. Her calendar and meetings showed nothing out of the ordinary. She was definitely concerned about Grand Springs’s growing drug problem and crime rate. Her schedule for the next week had two meetings with community watch groups and one with the chief of police. Olivia’s assistant confirmed that Olivia had wanted Grand Springs to get tougher about crime, but she hadn’t had any run-ins with any particular criminal group.
The only other big issue was strip mining. The outlying areas of Grand Springs sat on top of what once had been very lucrative mines. Now mined out, they were just hollow tunnels forming catacombs beneath the mountain and potential safety hazards. The local kids hung out there—Jack spent most of his youth learning which mines could be explored and which ones should be left alone. Recently, one