After She's Gone (West Coast #3)

“What do the cops want with my aunt?” Sonja Watkins asked, eyeing Sparks’s badge suspiciously through the screen.

Carter guessed this wasn’t the first time the police had shown up at her door.

Sparks offered a thin smile. A tall man with curly black hair showing its first signs of gray, he was about six feet, his skin always appearing tanned, his eyes sharp and focused. Today, as usual, he appeared unruffled, as if he’d been through the drill a million times.

“Is Belva Nelson here? On the premises?” he asked, flipping his badge holder closed and stuffing it into his pocket.

“Why? She in some kind of trouble?” Sonja was little more than five feet, thin to the point of being skinny, her hair a dark auburn color, red streaks visible. A pair of readers were propped onto her head, and the cigarette burned between the manicured fingers of her right hand. She turned her head to yell over her shoulder, “Christ, Mick, could you turn the damned TV down?”

One of the dogs lifted his head and gave a soft woof. The volume from within didn’t change. Pursing her lips in aggravation, she swung her head around again. “Wedded bliss.”

Sparks was firm. “We just need to talk to Ms. Nelson.”

“Well, Ms. Nelson ain’t here.”

“Where is she?”

“I don’t know.” A lift of the bony shoulders. A rounding of her eyes. “She don’t tell me where she’s goin’ half the time. And I don’t care. None of my business.” She took a long drag, shot a stream of smoke out of the corner of her mouth.

“But she does own a 2007 Hyundai Santa Fe?”

“Yeah.” Her look said, What’s it to ya?

“Does she live here?”

“Why?” She drew hard on her cigarette and in the ensuing cloud said, “Don’t you get it, she’s not here. I haven’t seen her in a couple of days.”

“When do you expect her back?” Sparks asked pleasantly, though there was an edge of steel to his voice.

“Don’t know. As I already told ya, she don’t answer to me! Shit, half the time she just picks up and leaves, don’t say a word about what she’s doin’ and shows up a few days later.” She turned her lips down at the corners. “It’s a real conundrum, now, ain’t it? But once again, it’s not my business. She pays her rent, I don’t go pryin’.”

“So this is where she resides?” Carter cut in.

She frowned. Shot him a look. Took a puff. Realized she’d given out more information than she’d intended. “You a cop, too?”

“Was.”

“I thought I’d seen you before. You were that sheriff that was caught up in that mess with the damned serial killer a few years back. The . . .” She snapped her fingers as she thought. “I don’t know his damned name, but he was the ice man guy.”

“That’s right.”

“Sheeeit, that was one fuckin’ mess! It was all over the news.” She let down her guard for a minute and swung her gaze back to Sparks. “You were involved, too. I read all about it. Was kinda fascinated with the whole weird thing. So what the hell are you two doin’ askin’ about my damned aunt?” A dawning realization hit her. “This have somethin’ to do with Jenna Hughes or her damned missing daughter? Yeah, yeah, I read all about it and you—” She pointed at Carter through the mesh, smoke from her filter tip curling from her hand. “You married Jenna Hughes. Now I remember! Holy shit, what the hell do you want with my aunt?”

Sparks asked, “Do you have a cell phone number for her, or some other number where she can be reached?”

Sonja hesitated; she obviously wasn’t eager to help the cops. “She don’t use it like regular people. I mean, she uses it when she wants to talk to someone but doesn’t have it on all the time to take calls. She’s a little old school, if ya know what I mean.” She eyed them both and had another drag. “What’s this all about?”

“She was a nurse,” Carter said.

She gave a sharp nod. “A long time ago. Belva’s been retired for years.”

“Did she ever work at Mercy Hospital?”