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“Will do. ’Night.” Francesca listened to Heather’s steps recede as she started through her messages. Jillian Abbatiello’s name was at the top of the stack. No doubt she’d also left a message on voice mail. April’s disappearance was so recent, they talked every day. Jill had to be wondering where Francesca had disappeared so suddenly. Francesca hadn’t called her because she wasn’t sure whether or not to tell Jill and Vince about the body in Skull Valley. Wouldn’t it be better to wait until she knew whether or not that corpse was April?
But no word was agony, too. Which was worse for April’s family?
Deciding to hold off until tomorrow morning, she set the message aside. Investigator Finch’s name was on the next slip. The two after that came from Jonah. All three said the same thing. “Call ASAP.”
Did they have new information? If so, it might solve the dilemma of what to tell Jill and Vince.
Disregarding the rest of her messages, she called Jonah first. Finch hadn’t fully forgiven her for embarrassing him. Jonah would be more forthcoming with any details the M.E. managed to find, anyway.
“Hello?”
She felt a flutter in her stomach the moment she heard his voice—and cursed her weakness. “It’s me.”
“Jeez, it’s about time you called. You scared the shit out of me, you know that? You can’t go dropping off the face of the earth and expect me not to think the worst, Francesca.”
Covering her eyes, she tried to rub away some of her fatigue—and wished she could ignore her appreciation of his voice. They used to talk for hours on the phone, whenever they couldn’t be together in person. “Sorry. I’ve been busy putting my life back in order, as much as that’s possible in one afternoon. I’m not used to anyone keeping tabs on me, so I wasn’t aware I should check in.”
“After this morning? Are you nuts?”
“I understand why you might’ve thought the worst. But you can relax. I’m fine.”
“Where are you?”
Her eyes circled the room, taking in the old wooden cupboards, which had been repainted so many times they hardly closed, the chipped enamel sink, the 1960s table and chairs covered in lime-green vinyl upholstery, the ancient toaster. Did she really want to tell him? He might wonder why she hadn’t chosen to stay with Adriana, and she’d rather he didn’t realize he still had the power to tear them apart. “How do you know I’m not home?”
“Because I’m at your house.”
She sat up straighter. “Why?”
“When I couldn’t find you anywhere else, I thought maybe you’d eventually come here.”
“But…it’s locked. How’d you get in?”
“I didn’t.” His yawn came through the phone. “I fell asleep on the porch while I was waiting for you.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No. Why?” He’d obviously noted the sharp edge to her voice.
“Because Butch doesn’t like you any better than he does me,” she snapped. “You’re lucky he didn’t decide to stop by and bash your head in while you were taking your snooze.”
“I didn’t fall asleep on purpose, Francesca.”
Pushing out of her chair, she began to pace. “It doesn’t matter. Just leave. Get out of there now. Don’t you have a—a wife or a girlfriend or something who’d be unhappy about you taking such risks?”
“I have neither. And I’ve got my gun. I’ll use it if necessary.”
She imagined how easy it would’ve been to sneak up on him while he was unconscious. “Now that you’re awake, shooting an assailant might be a possibility.”
“A distinct possibility. I have nothing to worry about.”
“Fine.” She wiped the image from her mind. She was so rattled she perceived danger lurking around every corner. Maybe she was overreacting, assuming Butch was a threat to everyone.
And maybe it was true…
Either way, Jonah was merely a work associate responsible for his own safety. She had to remember that.
Sidling up to the window, she parted the curtains to stare out at the empty, second-story landing. “So…why’d you call me earlier? What’s happening with the body?”
