4th of July

Chapter 44

THE OPERATOR CONNECTED ME with Claire first, and her mellow voice warmed me.

“Hi, doll. Sleeping in? Getting some color in your cheeks?”

“I’m trying, Butterfly, but my brain is like a hamster on a wheel.”

“Don’t waste this downtime, Lindsay, please. God, what I wouldn’t do for some time off.”

Cindy joined the conference call, her youthful voice ringing with the usual excitement. “It’s not the same without you, Linds. Sucks.”

“I wish you guys were here,” I told my friends. “It’s all blue sky and yellow sand. And hey, Joe came and spent the night.”

Cindy had some news about her second date with the hockey player, prompting whistles, and I came back with the story of Keith, the sandy-haired gas station guy.

“He’s in his twenties, I think, Brad Pitt type. He actually put the moves on me.”

Claire said, “You two really make me feel like the boring old married woman.”

“I want to be as bored as you are with Edmund,” said Cindy. “That’s for sure.”

The laughing and teasing made me feel as if we were gathered around a dimly lit table at Susie’s.

And, as we always did at Susie’s, we talked shop.

“So, what about these murders I’ve been hearing about?” Claire asked.

“Aw, jeez. The town is freaking out. A young couple was killed a few weeks ago—and a woman was murdered about a mile from here this morning.”

“It was on the wire,” Cindy said. “A bloody scene.”

“Yeah. It’s starting to look like a killer on a spree, and you know it’s irking me that I can’t do anything. I want to comb the crime scene. I hate not being in the loop.”

“Well, you’ll be interested in this little tidbit,” Claire said. “I got this off the medical examiners’ list serve. That couple who were murdered in Crescent Heights a few weeks ago? They were whipped.”

I think I blanked out for a moment as my mind flew to John Doe #24.

He’d been slashed and whipped.

“They were whipped? Claire, you’re sure about that?”

“Absolutely sure. Back and buttocks.”

Just then, a beep came over the line and the name on the caller ID was like the past slamming into the present. I said, “Hold on, guys,” and I pressed the flash button.

“Lindsay, it’s Yuki Castellano. Got time to talk?”

It was good that I was still on the phone with Claire and Cindy. I needed some time to shift gears into talking to my lawyer about the shooting on Larkin Street. Yuki said she’d call back in the morning, and I got on the line with the girls again, but my mind was scrambling.

For the past few days, I’d gotten away from everything—except the upcoming trial of my life.