Nona shrugged again. “Not really. We went to high school together, but we didn’t exactly hang out with the same crowd, if you know what I mean. Marly was the straight-A-honor-roll type of girl while I was—” She broke off and gave him a side-long glance. “You might say I had a different set of priorities in high school.”
Deacon nodded. “Fair enough.”
“I sure as hell never would have pictured her as a cop, though.”
“Why not?”
Nona watched a cloud of smoke drift off the porch. “She’s just not cut out for it. Too much of a goody-goody. Let’s people push her around all the time. Especially her old man.”
“Her husband?”
Nona shook her head. “She’s not married. No, I’m talking about her father. He’s a retired army colonel. Used to be the base commander over at Fort Stanton before it closed. Not exactly Mr. Personality, if you get my drift. I knew some of the guys who were stationed there, and they hated his guts. Said he was one mean son of a bitch.” She paused to take another drag on her cigarette, then expelled the smoke on a nervous laugh. “I don’t mean to bend your ear like this. It’s just…I have a tendency to talk too much when I get jittery.” She tossed the cigarette butt over the porch railing and watched it sizzle in the wet grass. “Smoke too much, too.”
“I don’t mind. I’m enjoying our conversation,” Deacon said.
“Yeah?” Her gaze turned speculative as she gave him another careful once-over.
“You were telling me about Marly Jessop’s father, the retired army colonel,” he gently coaxed.
Nona nodded. “My mother used to be their housekeeper, see. That’s how come I know so much about them. She’s got stories about that family that could curl your hair, let me tell you. She always felt real bad for Marly and Sam, though.”
“Sam?”
“Marly’s brother.”
“Does he live here in Mission Creek?”
“He came back here after he left the service. He’s moved into their grandmother’s old place. Really got it fixed up nice. I even noticed when I drove by there the other day that he has the garage apartment up for rent. Not that I’m interested, mind you.” She gave an exaggerated shudder. “You couldn’t pay me enough. Even if it would mean getting to see Sam every day, and that’s saying something for me. Always did have a thing for him.”
Deacon worked to keep his expression neutral. “You say he was in the service? Which branch?”
“The army, just like his father and grandfather. The grandfather was some big shot general at the Pentagon or something. Sam was supposed to follow in their footsteps, but he quit after a few years and came back here to teach school. From what I hear, the old man nearly had a stroke over it. But Mama said he always did try to run those kids’ lives. Stayed on their cases all the damn time. They never could do anything right. I guess it’s no wonder Marly turned out the way she has.”
“What do you mean?”
Nona thought for a moment. “She’s just…different. She has this way about her. Kind of like…she knows things the rest of us don’t? It’s hard to explain, but I guess being strange runs in that family when you consider what her grandmother did.” She leaned toward Deacon and lowered her voice. “Remember what I said about Marly having issues?”
He nodded.
“Well, old lady Jessop hanged herself when Marly was just twelve. Marly was the one who found the body. I don’t think she ever got over it.”
“Be hard to get over something like that,” Deacon muttered.
Nona lit up another cigarette. “Kind of creepy when you think about it, though. Marly was the one who found her grandmother all those years ago, and now here she is a cop, having to investigate all these other suicides. That’s what I call a really weird-ass coincidence.”
Weird maybe. But Deacon didn’t really believe in coincidences.
Chapter Three
Dr. Alvin Pliner, the Durango County medical examiner, snapped on a pair of latex gloves as he approached the corpse with what Marly perceived as an unseemly amount of enthusiasm. Here was a man who clearly enjoyed his job, she thought with a shudder.
“You’ve protected the crime scene, I assume.” He made the prospect sound doubtful.
“Don’t worry, it’s virgin,” Navarro assured him. He gave Marly a slight wink at the medical examiner’s pomposity, and her stomach fluttered uncomfortably. Navarro had that kind of effect. He was the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome, and the .357 Magnum he wore strapped to his hip gave him a certain bad-ass cachet that was downright irresistible.
All the women in town were half in love with him, but no one really knew much about him. An ex-Navy SEAL, he’d come to Mission Creek a little over a year ago to meet with the mayor and the city council, and whatever had gone down in those closed-door sessions had convinced them to hire him on the spot as the new chief of police.
From the very first, he’d been a different kind of cop than his predecessor. Boyd Hendrickson had been an aging lawman who had been all too content to coast along until his retirement. No one could accuse Navarro of complacency. He took an active role in every investigation, but he also remained somewhat of an outsider in the department, eschewing the standard uniform for jeans, boots, and on chilly days like today, a black leather jacket that made him seem cool, aloof and more than a little dangerous.
Marly dropped her gaze and tried to focus on Dr. Pliner as he moved his gloved hands with quick efficiency over the body. “He’s dead all right. Did you notice the blowback on his right hand? GPR is going to turn up positive, I can almost guarantee.”
“So you think it’s another suicide,” Navarro said quietly.
“Lucky Number Four,” Pliner agreed. “Although not so lucky for this poor bastard. I’ll be able to tell you more about time of death after the autopsy.”
He continued to poke and prod the corpse until Marly, still in danger of losing the contents of her stomach, had to leave the room. She walked down the hall into the living area and stood gazing around.
The room was sparsely furnished with a battered old sofa and recliner arranged around a small TV. The walls were decorated with Houston Astros and Harley-Davidson memorabilia, and the dining room table was strewn with mechanical parts, probably from the vintage Harley she’d seen under the carport. Marly could picture Ricky sitting there at night, listening to a baseball game on TV while he painstakingly restored and rebuilt piece by piece what had undoubtedly been his pride and joy.
Being in his house, examining his personal belongings was a little too much like having a glimpse into the man’s private dreams, Marly thought. She didn’t want to poke and prod into every aspect of his life, rip away the last vestiges of his dignity. All she really wanted was to go home, climb into a hot shower and wash that awful scent from her hair and from her skin. And from her memory, if possible.
She wasn’t like Navarro. She wasn’t the kind of cop who could walk away from a gruesome scene and put it out of her mind. Ricky Morales’s death would eat at her. His sightless eyes would haunt her sleep for years to come.
Handing out traffic citations was one thing, but all these deaths…
Marly hadn’t signed on for anything like this, and she toyed with the idea of handing in her resignation. She could just walk out the door and not look back, and no one would really be all that surprised. If anything, the people who knew her best were shocked that she’d stuck it out for this long.
Quitter, a voice inside her taunted. A voice that sounded very much like her father’s.
Well,