Did she get a few quizzical stares?
Oh, yes. Of course she did, but that was expected. Even necessary. Vintner’s House had a no cell phone policy, which was perfect, and, for the privacy of its customers, no security cameras, or so the management claimed. There was always a chance some yahoo who didn’t play by anyone else’s rules might sneak out his phone and risk taking a shot, if he thought he recognized her. But so what? It wasn’t a crime to have a glass of wine. That’s all it was. All anyone would know for now.
Besides, she thought, warming inside, she liked to flirt with danger.
Always had.
CHAPTER 27
From beneath her thick duvet, Rhonda Nash heard the ringing of her cell phone and groaned. She threw back the soft covers and felt the chill of the night. The window near her bed was cracked a bit, allowing a cold breeze that brought the steady plop of rain and the distant scream of sirens into the room. A glance at the clock on the night table told her the ugly truth—that it wasn’t quite four in the damned morning. Whoever was calling wasn’t the bearer of good news. Half asleep, she tried to pick up her cell and only managed to knock it from the night table.
“Damn.” Rolling to the side of the bed and hanging over its edge, she saw the bright display indicating that Double T was on the other end of the wireless connection. No surprise there. Scooping the phone from the floor, she clicked on and said, “Nash,” around a yawn.
“We got another one.”
“Another one what?” she asked, blinking herself awake.
“Another victim wearing a mask.”
She sat bolt upright. “A mask of Allie Kramer?” Suddenly completely awake, she flew out of bed and hit the switch for the bedside lamp in one fluid motion. As her feet hit the floor she started stripping out of her nightshirt on her way to the closet.
“Nope. This one’s of Jenna Hughes.”
She stutter-stepped. “The mother?”
“Right.”
Nash’s brain clicked into gear, dozens of questions forming. “Is it disfigured? Laminated? Same as the others?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Got an ID on the vic?”
“Yes, ma’am. The killer was kind enough to leave the victim’s license in her jacket pocket.”
“Great.” Shivering, she found the clothes she’d been wearing the day before, the pants and blouse she’d dropped on a bench when she’d been getting ready for her bath.
“Twenty-nine-year-old single woman. Brandi Potts. Lives in the Pearl. Got a couple of uniforms on their way over to the address now.”
“Good.” Already things were moving along. She poked the speaker button and set the phone on the counter in the built-in dresser within the closet. “Cause of death?”
“Won’t know until the ME arrives and—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know that,” she said, bothered as she stepped into her slacks. “But is there anything obvious . . . ?”
“Aside from the gunshot wound to her chest?”
“Funny guy.” She wasn’t laughing.
“Looks like she was hit from behind. Not a through and through. Bullet’s got to be lodged in the body somewhere.”
She snapped her pants over her waist. “Eyewitnesses?”
“Already got a couple. We’re checking. Door to door.”
“Who called it in?”
“Bouncer from a club a couple of blocks away, on his way to his car.”
She zipped up, threw on a bra. “Give me an address.”
“Get this. The shooting took place on the very same street where Lucinda Rinaldi was hit.”
“What?” She went cold inside, her movements slow as she pulled on her sweater. “Where the movie was shot?”
“Not the exact location, but about a block and a half down the street.”
Nash’s mind was whirling. “Was the victim connected to Dead Heat?”
“Unknown. Yet. Workin’ on it.”
“Holy shit.” She yanked her head through the sweater’s neck and finger-tousled her hair.
“My sentiments exactly.”
He gave her the exact address and she said, “I’ll be there in fifteen, maybe sooner.” Leaning over, she found her boots where she’d left them, pulled them on, and zipped them up.
