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Kit bent down so that she was eye to eye with Eloise. “You are not flighty, Miss Eloise. You’re as sharp as a tack. You use the flightiness act to make people underestimate you, but I have your number now. I think you run this joint.”
Eloise’s chuckle was watery. “Takes a sharp tack to know one. Don’t get yourself killed, Detective. We like you.”
It was a pleasant jolt, a shot in the arm. She normally didn’t care who liked her, but she’d grown to like these ladies, too.
“I don’t plan to, ma’am.” Kit grabbed her plate, silverware, and coffee cup for a third time, heading for the dishwasher. Her brain was a tumble of thoughts, the main one of which was how to prove that Roxanne was the killer. Because now she was sure of it.
She opened the dishwasher and put the coffee cup in the top rack, then stopped, staring at the contents. One of the cups had a dark red lipstick stain on the rim. It was wine-colored and Kit knew she’d seen that color before—on the autopsy photos Alicia had shown her of Kent Crawford’s penis. Someone with this same color lipstick had performed oral sex on him shortly before his death.
“Who drank from the light blue mug?” she asked, even though she thought she already knew.
Georgia got up to look. “Roxanne did. Two nights ago, when we had tea.” Her eyes widened as Kit’s words sank in. “Roxanne did it? Are you serious?”
“Shh,” Kit cautioned. “Don’t say a word.”
Georgia’s scowl was rather terrifying. “That bitch.”
Sam put his arm around Georgia’s shoulders and led her back to the table. “Detective McKittrick will take care of this. We’re going to sit here, finish our coffee, and let her work.”
Eloise was nodding as the two sat. “You said she’d figure it out that very first day, Sammy. I didn’t expect her to work so fast, but you were right.”
Kit gave Sam a look of gratitude. Even when she pushed him away, he still supported her.
And I can’t think about him right now. I have work to do.
She bagged the mug for evidence. “I have to go, but I’ll make sure the uniform outside knows to stick close to your apartment. I think everyone else here is safe, but you two were close to both Frankie and Benny. You’re probably safe, too,” she added hastily when both women stared at her in fear, “but I’m not taking chances. According to the duty roster, Roxanne is on shift today, so just…stay here. Don’t go anywhere. Please.”
If she couldn’t get another uniform here fast enough, she’d have them picked up and put in a safe house. Georgia would balk, but Miss Eloise would probably like the excitement.
She opened Georgia’s front door, taking one last look at them. The three of them held hands, their expressions identically grim.
She needed to work fast—before the three of them did something they’d all regret.
Clairemont, San Diego, California
Thursday, November 10, 10:15 a.m.
Kit got into the department sedan with a frustrated huff. She glared at the little Craftsman bungalow as if it had been the one to have committed the offense. “She lied.”
Sliding behind the steering wheel, Connor fastened his seat belt. “A murderer lied? Say it ain’t so.”
Kit double-checked the address listed on Roxanne’s personnel file. They were at the right address—except that it wasn’t her rental house.
A very large, heavily muscled and tattooed man who hadn’t yet had enough caffeine had answered their knock, glaring at the black-and-white that had been sitting in front of his house all night before turning his glare on Kit and Connor. He had not been happy to see them.
His name was Shaun Blanchard and he was the homeowner. That was easily verified. After that, it had gone downhill.
Roxanne Beaton did not rent a room from him. He’d never heard of her, in fact. He didn’t know why she’d listed his address as her temporary home while completing her contract with Shady Oaks.
After he’d guzzled down the full mug of coffee in his hand, he’d softened his tone, even allowing them to come in and look for Roxanne.
That had surprised the hell out of Kit until she’d seen the framed photo of the homeowner wearing a Coast Guard uniform. They hadn’t known each other in the Guard, but Blanchard had recognized her name from the online news articles written about the big serial killer case she and Connor had closed six months before.
The articles invariably cited her service and, as a favor to a fellow Coastie, Blanchard had said that he wanted to help Kit cross a lead off her list.
There was no sign of Roxanne, which by then they’d expected. This was a major problem, because she hadn’t shown up for her shift today, calling in sick instead.
They had no idea where she was. They’d immediately called in a BOLO, but she’d had at least a twelve-hour head start.
