He spread his hands. “How? Just tell me how.”
“Have you ever heard the name Butch Vaughn?”
“Never.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive. Butch isn’t a very common name. It would’ve stood out.”
Jonah described Butch, too, but this also drew a blank, so he moved on. “What about Dean Wheeler?”
Terrance started to shake his head, but doubt crept into his expression and he stopped. “Wait a second…that one sounds sort of familiar.”
Francesca scooted forward. “Do you have any idea where you might’ve heard it before?”
“No, but…I suppose Dean could’ve been one of her patients.”
“She was a doctor?”
“A nurse. At Laurel Oaks Behavioral Hospital on the other side of town. She was always coming home with stories about the crazies she met there. She didn’t call them that, of course. She was pretty PC, defended them whenever I said anything about the nut house. She got to know some of the patients quite well. Felt sorry for most. Loved a few. Was afraid of others.”
Had Dean ever been a patient at Laurel Oaks? If so, was he one of those Bianca had feared? “Maybe we’ve found the link,” Francesca whispered to Jonah. It could be Dean and not Butch who’d committed the murders. But it couldn’t have been Dean who’d cut her phone line, not unless she’d seen only what she’d expected to see when she looked out at the pool. Had her mind been playing tricks on her?
“It should be easy enough to check,” Jonah said.
Terrance blinked several times. “What are you talking about?”
“There’s a man with behavioral problems who’s also been associated with another death,” Jonah explained. “We need to find out if he was a patient at Laurel Oaks.”
“After everything she tried to do for those people that would be ironic, wouldn’t it?” Terrence muttered.
“What was she driving when she left?” Jonah asked.
“A gray Toyota Prius. Sort of charcoal-colored. She insisted on owning an electric car, wanted to go green and save the environment. I’ve never seen such a recycling buff. She was so…unusual. So…special,” he added. “I’ve never gotten over her. Maybe I never will.”
Francesca caught sight of a photograph sitting on the counter. A dark-haired, dark-eyed woman, slightly over-weight and wearing a witch’s costume, smiled out at the room. “Is that Bianca?”
Terrence nodded. “On our last Halloween together.”
Jonah got up and strode over. “Did you ever recover her car?”
“No. Then I would’ve known something happened to her. She’d never abandon it.”
“So where could it have gone?” Francesca asked, but even as the question passed her lips, she knew—the salvage yard.
16
The Dean Wheeler situation was an excuse to call Jonah. Adriana knew it. She could wait until Francesca called her back. She’d hear from her eventually. But she had something worth telling, something that could possibly affect Fran and Jonah and whatever case they were working on, and she couldn’t resist calling Jonah with it.
In case Dean returned, she kept her boys where she could see them and used her cordless phone to dial Jonah’s number. She’d memorized it and thrown away the paper on which she’d jotted it when he’d called her yesterday. She didn’t want to risk having her husband come across that number. What if he thought it was a message for him and called Jonah?
That wouldn’t be good. She hadn’t even told Stan that Jonah was back.
“Hello?”
The sound of Jonah’s voice caused the usual flip-flop in her stomach. She hated it. But, as much as she wished otherwise, she couldn’t seem to manage a more acceptable response. “Hi, uh, Jonah? This is Adriana.”
There was a slight pause. “What can I do for you, Adriana?”
“I’ve been trying to reach Francesca, but she’s not picking up. You wouldn’t know where she is, would you?”
She hoped not. She wanted to use Dean’s visit to strike up a conversation that might lead into the more personal questions she was dying to ask. But it wasn’t to be.
“She’s right here,” he said. “Hang on a minute.”
Cringing with disappointment—and a small amount of embarrassment—she held her breath as she waited, wondering what she’d expected to accomplish by talking to Jonah, anyway. Even if he suddenly decided that he regretted his choice ten years ago and wanted to be with her, they couldn’t have a relationship. She had a family now, would never leave Stan. So why was she still so eager for his attention, still hoping he’d realize what she had to offer and want her the way she’d always wanted him?
“Adriana?”
At Francesca’s voice, she released her breath and tried to act as normal as possible. “Hi. Where’ve you been? Why aren’t you answering my calls?”
“Sorry. It’s been a crazy day. What—what’s going on?”
That little hitch worried her. Was Francesca’s response cooler than usual? Maybe. Or was she imagining it? Sure she’d called Jonah, but she’d immediately requested Francesca. That should’ve made it okay.
However, she’d done similar things a decade ago whenever she could—and that made her self-conscious about it now. “I wanted to tell you that Dean Wheeler came by.”
“What did you say?”
“Dean Wheeler. That guy you mentioned? The brother-in-law of the man you think might’ve murdered that woman?”
“I know who you’re talking about. I just can’t believe he showed up at your house.”
“It was weird. He knocked at my door about—” she glanced at the clock “—an hour ago.”
Fortunately, the information she had to impart directed all attention away from the fact that she’d called Jonah, just as she’d known it would. She felt both relieved and guilty about that. She hadn’t talked to Jonah for more than a few seconds, but at least there shouldn’t be a backlash for making the attempt.
“What did he want?” Francesca asked.
“He had your pictures, the ones you carry around in your purse.”
“What was he doing with those?”
“He said he was trying to return them. That he’d already been to your place. I have them here now, but I don’t know why he didn’t leave them on your doorstep.”