Page 6

CHAPTER 6

Still later that morning

“Have you been able to reach anyone at Tennessee Children’s Services?” Suzanne asked.

She and Elaine Prescott sat on the sofa in the latter’s office at Families United. After the former director was caught in a pedophile sting this past autumn, Elaine was appointed as the agency’s acting director and was expected to be made director after the first of the new year.

“No.” Elaine sounded rueful as she filled their cups with strong black tea from a china pot. “With Christmas falling on a Wednesday this year, they’re running with a skeleton staff, and Mercy’s supervisor Lucinda Gonzalez, is out until Monday. And like Mercy, I don’t want to share her suspicions with just anyone. With her suspicions about that couple at the shelter Tennessee Cares operates being involved with both the Campbell and Clark sisters disappearing, it will become a problem between the two agencies. And Tennessee Cares is closing at noon today. We’re stuck with waiting.”

“It doesn’t seem right not to call someone,” Suzanne insisted, putting down her cup. “But I’m grateful Families United is open, and you gave up your day off to help with this.”

“You know I’d do that.” Concern drew Elaine’s eyebrows together. “Was there a reason you didn’t tell Grant Miller what Mercy told you yesterday?’

Suzanne shook her head. “I guess I was too stunned to think about it, especially after that guy attacked me.”

“Completely understandable,” Elaine agreed. “You were in shock about Mercy and David too.”

“And when Sergeant Miller texted me this morning, he only said none of Mercy’s neighbors saw or heard anything last night and had no idea where David might be,” Suzanne continued. Heart aching, she added, “and I have no idea where he would go.”

“You need to let Grant Miller know what Mercy told you right now,” Elaine urged. “Has he notified Mercy’s family yet?”

“He said they found her cell phone crushed into bits,” Suzanne said sadly. “So was the Snoopy-Woodstock phone in David’s room. I also forget to tell him Mercy’s parents are in Europe, and she didn’t tell me where they were going.

“Oh dear,” Elaine sighed. "Someone’s going to need to identify Mercy’s body.”

Her statement chased the cup’s warmth from Suzanne’s hands, and she quickly set it on the table in front of them. “Oh, Lord,” she whispered. “I can’t–what if Grant Miller asks me to do that?”

“I’ll go with you if he does,” Elaine offered quickly. “But you need to text him right now and tell–”

A quick knock at Elaine’s partially open door cut her off as office manager Barbara Simmons stepped inside. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Elaine,” she said. “But that guy you were expecting is here. Sergeant Kristopher Brower?”

“Thank you, Barbara,” Elaine said. “Why are you grinning like a cat in a room full of canaries?”

“‘Cause he’s the best-looking thing on two legs that I’ve seen in a month of Sundays,” Barbara declared. “A little whipped cream and a cherry on top and he’d be good enough to eat.”

“You’re terrible,” Elaine scolded but she was smiling. “What would Fred say if he heard you talking like that? And about a younger man?”

Barbara winked. “Never hurts to look,” she declared. “But I knew when I first laid eyes on my husband of fifty years, he was my one and only. I’ll go fetch your visitor.”

She left, whistling Deck the Halls and despite the situation, Suzanne laughed, grateful for the break in the sorrow. “I’d hate to think of what would happen if Barbara left Families United.”

“Hush,” Elaine scolded. “She’s under strict orders not to retire until she turns one hundred, so we’ve got her for almost another thirty years.”

“Sergeant Kristopher Brower,” Barbara announced from the doorway. A tall man in black trousers and heavy black jacket waited behind her.

“Kristopher, come in.” Elaine rose to greet him. “You look nearly frozen. Thanks, Barbara.”

He entered, then turned and said, “Thank you, Mrs. Simmons,” before looking back at them. “Good to see you again, Elaine,” he said, taking off his gloves and putting them in his jacket pocket.

“You too, Kristopher,” Elaine said. “No doubt, Hank has already filled you in on the situation.”

“He has,” Sergeant Brower confirmed as Suzanne stood and Elaine said, “Suzanne, meet Sergeant Kristopher Brower, US Army, retired, now with Brotherhood Protectors. Kristopher, this is my friend and colleague, Suzanne Bennett. She and Mercy Phillips were friends.”

He came forward to offer Suzanne his hand. Strength pulsated there as his long fingers wrapped around hers, his skin warm and soothing. He looked like he was right at six feet tall which meant she’d have to wear heels to kiss him.

Good Heavens! Where did that come from? Barbara, you are a bad influence. Suzanne gave herself a swift, mental kick but had to admit with his short black hair, pencil thin moustache and hazel eyes, Sergeant Kristopher Brower made a very nice package indeed, even without whipped cream and a cherry.

“I see you have coffee,” Sergeant Brower said, gesturing at the machine on the stand in the corner. “I’ll help myself before we get started.”

When he rejoined them, he sat in the high back chair in front of the table and crossed his legs. “I’m sorry to meet you under the present circumstances and also for your loss, Ms. Bennett,” he said. “Have we learned anything since yesterday about Mrs. Phillips murder or her son’s whereabouts?”

His voice was low-pitched and melodious with a trace of an East Tennessee accent. Suzanne shook her head. “I was just telling Elaine that Sergeant Grant Miller from KPD-have you met him, Sergeant Brower? –hasn’t learned anything new about either so far. But I guess since it’s less than twenty-four hours, that’s not unusual.”

“Probably not,” he agreed. “And yes, I’ve met Grant Miller. We worked on a case together earlier this month. And it’s Kristopher with a K. May I call you Suzanne?”

Suzanne nodded and Elaine added, “Kristopher worked with my friends Patrick–who’s with BP–and Danni. Danni can’t stop talking about how helpful you were.”

“Glad to be of service,” Kristopher said. “What should we do first, Suzanne?”

Suzanne and Elaine traded glances before Suzanne spoke. “I need to tell Sergeant Miller something Mercy told me yesterday over lunch,” and described what her friend had shared.

Concern narrowed the BP member’s eyes. “That’s not good,” he said.

“I was just about to text him.” Suzanne tried to keep from sounding defensive. “And before you accuse me of anything, all the agencies involved are closed until Monday so I couldn’t have called anyone.”

“I meant the situation about two sets of missing young girls,” he responded. “Sounds like a kidnapping.”

“And if that is what’s going on, we need to be very careful about who we tell other than the police,” Elaine added. “At least the shelter staff notified them when the Campbell sisters went missing. Grant Miller confirmed that. But how can we determine if the two cases are related?”

Silence filled the room, and the pounding of her heart roared in Suzanne’s ears. The only other sounds were the faint whoosh of cars driving by and the chiming of church bells down the street.

‘Kristopher with a K’ set down his cup and switched his study of Suzanne to Elaine. “Are you thinking The Cadre might be involved with this?” He gestured at Suzanne. “Does she know about them?”

“I told her about them last night,” Elaine said. “After that monster attacked her, you can’t blame her for not remembering to tell Grant Miller about Mercy’s suspicions. It’s a wonder she got any sleep at all.”

“I’m sorry if I gave you the impression that I was accusing you of doing something–or not doing something, Suzanne.” His smile was gentle and some of the tension in Suzanne’s shoulders lessened.

“Thanks,” she said and choked back an unexpected sob. She took a quick sip of her tea before adding, “Sorry to be so shaky.”

“No reason to be,” he said. “You’ve lost a friend under horrific circumstances and were attacked in your home. Anyone would be upset. Did you bring your suitcase from Elaine’s?”

“I did.” She favored him with a tiny smile and Kristopher’s heart hitched upwards. Her glossy chestnut bobbed hair swung just above her shoulders and her dark brown eyes rivaled a good, dark chocolate. She was petite but with plenty of curves and looked like she might be able to hold her own in a fight.

But a kind of weariness that only comes with sorrow had stained the skin under her eyes and he wondered if she’d slept at all last night.

“Elaine told me to pack as though I would be away for at least two weeks,” she said, pointing at the oversize rolling suitcase in a corner. “I hear BP has its own safehouse. One decorated like a luxury hotel with a state-of-the-art computer lab, gym with a pool and a fully equipped kitchen?”

“We do,” Kristopher acknowledged, and wondered if she’d heard about Patrick banning him from the kitchen unless to clean up after dinner. “I think you’ll be comfortable. Why don’t we go there first so you can unpack? You can text Miller about Mercy’s news while I’m bringing the car around.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d really like to go back to David’s neighborhood first and try to talk to some of the people who know him,” Suzanne requested. “And then go to Mercy’s and help look for her address book. I guess Grant Miller will need to okay that since it’s probably still a crime scene, like my house.”

She choked again and lowered her head. Elaine took the cup from her, set it on the table and covered Suzanne’s hands with her own while Kristopher’s outrage at the insult of her being assaulted in her home after learning her friend was dead started a slow burn in his chest again.

But Elaine’s simple act of holding her silently weeping friend’s hands acted like a balm to a wound, because Suzanne Bennett’s quiet tears quickly slowed, and Kristopher knew sometimes being silent was the best thing to do.

And then because even before he was a Brotherhood Protector, or a U.S. Army veteran, he was a gentleman. Reaching into his inner jacket pocket, he pulled out a handkerchief and passed it to Suzanne. Taking it, she dabbed her eyes, then pressed it to first one cheek, then the other Some of the color came back into her face and he noticed for the first time the warm, tawny hue of her skin. Suzanne Bennett was a beauty alright, and he wondered why Hank Patterson hadn’t included her photo in his faxed report.

Withholding his sigh of appreciation, Kristopher said, “I’ll go ahead and take your bag to my car. Is that yours?” He pointed at the bright pink coat draped over the back of the sofa.

“It is.” Suzanne tucked the handkerchief into her dress pocket. “And thanks.”

“Don’t forget to put it on,” Kristopher advised. “It’s cold outside.”

He fetched the suitcase and pulled it from the room into the hallway and then out to his car. A thin ray of sunlight had worked its way through the gun metal gray clouds, and he sent up a hasty prayer for calm. He needed to tell Suzanne Bennett about working with Grant Miller five years ago, as well as knowing Mercy and David Phillips.

But not about Syd Phillips and how he died. Kristopher wasn’t ready to tell her about that just yet.