Agnes Hahn Read online

  She stopped, and a puzzled expression swept her face. “Do you want to come in?”

  He looked around. There was no other choice. The side door of the garage opened into the house. The only other exit was the large garage door, which was now tightly closed. He could get to the remote on the visor before she could, but that would place him in a vulnerable position, inside the car. He shook his head. What was he thinking? She was as meek as they came and barely over a hundred pounds. The murders didn’t involve guns—weapons of distance. Blades were close range. Intimate. He could handle her up close. Just like the victims?

  “We can talk now,” she said. “But only for a little while. I’m tired.”

  She keyed the door and walked in, leaving the door open behind her.

  He moved to the doorway and peered inside. He knew the layout. The small entryway led in two directions. The kitchen was to the back, living room to the front. Agnes walked to the front and he followed.

  “Please sit down. Would you like some tea?”

  He didn’t want anything, particularly tea. But it might help get her to talk. “Would coffee be too much trouble?”

  “I don’t have coffee. Only tea.”

  “Tea would be fine.”

  She disappeared into the kitchen.

  Jason pulled the drapes aside and caught a glimpse of the Ford across the street. Wilson had moved to the passenger side, and sat sideways in the seat, feet up. A pillow propped his head against the window. He guzzled from a green beverage can.

  Jason turned and sank into a claw-footed chair. The clinking of china brought his mind back to the house. A low-pitched whistle ascended a musical scale and gained volume, then screamed to silence. The house was cold. He hadn’t noticed that before. A warm drink would be welcome. Even tea.

  Agnes entered, carrying a large tray with two cups and saucers, a board of cheese surrounded by a leaning stack of crackers, and a too-large knife. Jason stood. It looked like a steak knife, with a serrated edge.

  The coroner’s reports said the type of blade used in the murders was extremely sharp and smooth, like a scalpel. Or a straight razor. He shuddered. He had played with a straight razor once when he was a teen. The blade was paper-thin, but sharp enough to dive deep into flesh by just resting it on skin, from its own weight. His stomach churned like it had back then. It was the kind of churn he always got from a double Ferris wheel when the chair crested the zenith and nothing was between his feet and the distant pavement. His forehead tickled with sweat again.

  Agnes placed the tray on a coffee table and sat in an opposite chair.

  “I put sugar in for you. Two cubes.”

  To hide something else?

  She tilted her head like a curious dog. “Was that all right? You look angry. People who don’t drink tea usually like it sweetened.”

  Jason gazed at the ceiling and then back down. “I’m sorry. That’s fine. I’m not used to being waited on.” He looked in her eyes and she lowered them. She had fine features, a pretty face. With a little makeup, styled hair, and some feminine clothes, she would be pretty. And she didn’t look a thing like Eugenia. Didn’t act like her. In fact, she was as far from Eugenia as any woman he’d ever met.And it triggered an impossible sensation. Was he attracted to her?

  She folded her hands in her lap. “What do you want to know about Lilin? I can’t tell you much.”

  Her sudden bluntness startled him. He cut a slice of cheese and put the knife down with the handle facing his way.

  “If you’ve never met her, how do you know she’s out there?”

  “I think she talks to me.”

  His eyes burned into her. Anthony Hopkins. Psycho. “Has she always talked to you?”

  “No. Just recently. Before that, I had a feeling she was there. That’s the best way I can explain it. Sounds crazy, doesn’t it?”

  Bats in the belfry. But her shy sincerity said otherwise. An urge swept over him. To pull her close. To comfort her. He shook the thought from his mind. Keep track of her hands. “No. Not to me.” The reporter elbowed in. “When she talks, what does she say?”

  “Not much. A word here and there, then nothing for a long time.”

  “Has she told you anything about the murders?”

  Agnes shifted in her chair. “She doesn’t tell me anything. Just words.”

  “Like what?”

  She looked around the room and lowered her voice. “Like ‘yes’ and ‘no.'”

  He leaned forward a little. “She hasn’t told you any thing beyond that?”

  “Just one thing.”

  Farther forward. “What’s that?”

  Agnes paused and bit her lower lip. “That you aren’t one of the good ones.” Her eyes met his for an instant and returned to the floor. She sipped her tea.

  “Not one of the good ones? What does that mean?”

  “Most men aren’t good. Only some are.”

  A slight relaxation; he felt a bit of a flirt coming on. “How do you know I’m not one of the good ones?”

  Agnes gripped her hands together. “I don’t know that. Lilin said that.”

  “What do you think?” He smiled.

  “I don’t know yet.” Her eyes flicked up then down. A faint smile revealed dimples.

  So unlike Eugenia. “The tea is very good. Thank you for sweetening it.”

  “Ella isn’t a tea drinker. I learned how to make it so she could drink it.”

  “Did she drink coffee?”

  Agnes shook her head. “Gert said no coffee. If two wanted tea, the third should drink it, too. It was efficient that way.”

  Jason fingered his chin. Notes registered in his mental reporter’s notebook, but they were incomplete. There was competition for Jason the reporter. From Jason the man. “Did everything have to be efficient with Gert?”

  “It’s the best way.”

  “Do you miss her?”

  Agnes’s eyes watered.

  “Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that.” The reporter took charge. “Can I talk about Ella, or is that too painful as well?”

  “No.”

  “No, I can’t talk about Ella, or no, it isn’t too painful?”

  “It’s okay. I’m getting tired.”

  “I want to talk to her. Can you think of anything that might help me get through to her?”

  Agnes’s head bobbed and the corners of her mouth curved upward, her dimples deep. “Carnations.”

  “Flowers?”

  “She loves carnations.” A full smile. “She loves to smell them.”

  He downed the last sip of tea and shifted back in the chair. “I’ll give that a try.” He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a business card. “If you need anything, or if you just want to talk some more, give me a call. My cell phone number is here.” He reached across the table.

  She left the card on the tray without reading it.

  The smile drained from her face. “Detective Bransome told me the people at the shelter don’t want me to come back to work right now. Do you know anything about that?”

  “No. Sorry.” The man broke through. “People can be real jerks.” The desire to pull her close returned. Her. Not Eugenia.

  “Can I go to the bank? And the store? I need some things.”

  “You can go anywhere you want, as long as you don’t leave Mendocino. You’ll be followed.” He pointed his thumb over his shoulder. “Do you have money?”

  “Yes.”

  He assumed the house was paid for long ago. And she seemed like the type to bankroll most of her disposable income. And Gert and Ella. Were they the types who stuffed their mattresses with millions, twenty dollars at a time? He stood. “You’ll call me if you need anything?”

  They walked to the front door, and he stooped to pick up her mail. One more bill since yesterday, and two pieces of junk mail. “Thank you for the tea. I’ll stop by tomorrow to see how you’re doing.” He thought he saw the dimples again.

  “How will you get to where you’
re staying?”

  “The motel is just a half mile down the road.” He purposely pointed in the wrong direction. “I’ll walk.” He patted his stomach. “I need the exercise.”

  “Thank you for bringing me home.” She closed the door on his smile.

  Wilson was out of the Ford by the time Jason got to the road.

  “What did you and the little lady talk about?” Wilson winked. “Or did you talk? The two of you got something going?”

  “Thank you for not telling Bransome about the phone call. I really am on your side this time.”

  “Yeah, well, don’t expect any more out of me. He found out. I really got my ass chewed. I’m lucky I gave you that ticket or I probably would’ve been busted down to janitor.” He yanked the car door open. “Tell Mulvaney no more favors. Okay?”

  “If I need one, I’ll let you write another ticket first. How’s that?”

  Wilson laughed as he climbed back in the Ford.

  Jason turned in the direction of his motel and started off at a fast pace. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the curtains in Agnes’s second-floor bedroom part. The afternoon carried a sudden chill.

  CHAPTER 12

  THE CARE HOME RECEPTIONIST PEERED OVER THE TOP of her half-frame glasses. “What’s her name?”

  “I don’t know. She looks after Ella Hahn. Takes her to supper.”

  The receptionist scanned a list of names. “Ella Hahn. She’s in the assisted-living wing. I don’t know the aides over there. What does she look like?”

  Jason had noticed at least three workers who fit Uh huh’s general description, so that wouldn’t help. And describing a nipple ring, and a tattoo of a skull smoking a joint on her right butt cheek would probably get him thrown out on his ear.

  “Maybe if you could point me in the right direction, I could ask around.”

  The receptionist looked at the bouquet in his hand and frowned. “You have to be listed as a guest of a resident, or an employee. I can’t let you go unless you give me a name. For security reasons.”

  He knew the routine. But on his first trip, the receptionist hadn’t made such an issue of it. Just a single question. Probably because he’d called ahead.

  “I’m here to visit Ella Hahn, at supper. I wanted to talk with her aide first.”

  “I can put you down for Ella Hahn. What’s your name?”

  “Jason Powers.”

  “Do you have identification?”

  He fumbled with his wallet.

  “Normally, you have to make prior arrangements to have supper here. We can’t have people dropping in.”

  “I don’t have to eat. I want to talk with Ella at suppertime.”

  The receptionist peered over her glasses again. “I can put you down today. As Ella’s guest. But you’ll have to give advance notice in the future.”

  “Thank you. Where would I find Ella’s room?”

  “Second floor of the north wing.” She scanned a ledger. “Room 238.”

  Jason used the stairs to the second floor and crossed a small outside bridge to the north wing. The difference was startling. In the main wing, the independent-living residents occupied one or two-bedroom apartments, and each door had a small shrine of decorations, some seasonally appropriate, some honoring grandchildren or great-grandchildren. In the north wing, the residents were more like patients, and the suites were more like private hospital rooms. The halls were nearly bare. Pictures were taped to an occasional door, but that was all. He felt like he had walked from a forest into a desert.

  He spotted a young woman pushing a laundry cart. “I’m looking for a woman who works here. She looks after Ella Hahn in 238.”

  The woman turned as if startled. “The lounge is around that corner, on the left.” She thrust out her finger like she was trying to hurt someone in the distance. “She’s sitting on her butt, like always.”

  The woman was wrong. She wasn’t sitting. Three aides stood talking next to a soda vending machine. He recognized the backside of the one facing away from him and walked up to her. “Uh huh?”

  She spun around and threw her arms around his neck, crushing the bouquet of carnations between them. Her giggles were contagious, caught by the other two women.

  “Come on.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him from the lounge and into the hall. They turned right at a T-junction and hurried twenty yards down the austere hall, lined with naked, numbered doors. She jerked him to a stop, keyed an unmarked door, and pulled him inside.

  A washing machine rumbled in the far corner of the large room, and the scent of fabric softener filled his nostrils. A huge pile of bedding and towels, all white, covered the floor in front of four machines, two washers and two dryers. To the left, three rows of floor-to-ceiling shelves filled the majority of the room, loaded with clean linens, paper products, and cleaning supplies.

  The woman pulled Jason over to the pile of laundry and yanked his shirttail from his pants.

  He grabbed her hands. “I just came to talk.” He couldn’t take his eyes off her face. The flip of her hair, the teasing arch of her eyebrows. They triggered a flashback of Eugenia, in an L-shaped Laundromat at two in the morning. How she had pulled him to the far corner of the empty room, against one of the floor-to-ceiling dryers. She lifted her skirt and dropped her panties in one quick motion. With another, she had freed him of his Levi’s and had him inside her, moving to the tumbling rhythm and doubling the heat of the dryer.

  The woman pulled her hands free, bringing Jason back to the care home laundry room. She grabbed the bouquet and hurled it to the floor, and tugged at the buttons of his shirt. He turned enough to break her grip.

  Her shirt was off with a single pull and her pants followed a moment later. She laid down on the laundry pile, leaned back on an elbow, and parted her legs. Her smooth thong panty contrasted the rumpled bedclothes.

  “This isn’t what I came for.”

  “Yeah, right. What else do you need to know about Ella?” She sat up, legs crossed. “Whatever it is, you know it’ll cost you.”

  “Never mind.” He turned to the door.

  She lunged and grabbed the waist of his Levi’s, turning him back. The buttons of his fly gave a rip of staccato pops as they let loose.

  He twisted, but her grip was firm.

  She slipped her hand through the opening in his boxers. “Thought so.” She laughed.

  Damn Eugenia. Her image once again betrayed his intentions. Was this the only way he could have her?

  The woman reached over to her discarded shirt and pulled a condom from the front pocket. She held the wrapper in her teeth, tore it open, and spat out the remnant.

  Jason lowered himself and adjusted his position on the makeshift mattress. He didn’t know what to say, and as usual, something stupid came out. “Do you always carry condoms at work?”

  “I’m a real Girl Scout. Always prepared. And I knew you’d be coming around sooner or later.”

  Before he could say another word she sheathed and straddled him, quickly engulfing any remnant of dissent. Her vocalizations began immediately. “Uh huh. Uh huh. Uh huh.”

  The rhythmic utterances echoed throughout the room, overpowering the competing cadence of the washer. They threatened to awaken all but the hardest-of-hearing residents. He put his hand over her mouth to mute the grunts, but it did little to dampen her enthusiasm, or her volume.

  “Mm hmm. Mm hmm. Mm hmm.”

  It was the sound Eugenia used to make in his ear when they made love.

  The woman was good at her craft, and the spontaneity of the event triggered an early conclusion. Her oral crescendo vibrated the room and probably registered on the local Richter scale.

  She pulled on her panties and slacks in a hurry and jumped to her feet. “You might want to get yourself together. This room gets used a lot.”

  He felt sluggish, like he was moving in slow motion, and the thought of being caught half-dressed did little to speed his movements. He fastened the last button on the Levi’s and
scanned the room for the carnations. The mangled bouquet was in the corner next to the washer. He retrieved it.

  “Are those for me?”

  “They’re for Ella.” He looked down. “Or, they were.” He picked out the bent and torn flowers, tossing them to the floor. He gripped five of the original dozen in his fist. “She likes carnations.”

  “Nobody ever brings me flowers.”

  “Maybe if I knew your name, I would.”

  She planted a tongue-thrusting kiss on his mouth and pranced to the door, laughing. “Come on. Let’s get out of here. We can talk in the lounge.”

  He followed her to the door. It opened to an audience; he jumped back a step. The two women from the lounge were joined by a third he’d never seen before, and they gave a rousing ovation. He slinked out, pulled by the hand of Uh huh. She gave a low curtsy and led him down the hall. Her laughter reverberated through the north wing.

  The lounge was empty.

  “What do you want to know about Ella that’s so important you bring flowers to a woman you don’t even roll with?” A pleasant blush filled her face. There wasn’t a hint of hurt in her expression or her statement.

  Anywhere. Anytime. Sex was a game. Just like with Eugenia. Although with her, it had also been a bond. They had done it in so many places, it had become part of their normal relationship. Relationship? He leaned back and focused on the woman. A relationship with this woman? He didn’t even know her name. He shook his head. He needed information about Ella. But what did that make him? He shook the thought from his head.

  “I want to get through to her,” he said. “The real her. You said she was lucid sometimes after supper. Is there anything that helps bring her back? Any way to get her attention?”

  The woman looked up at the ceiling. “When she gets like that, she always wants to help clean up. Maybe that’s what brings her back. Cleaning up.”

  “Do you mention it to her, or does she just snap into it?”

  “I don’t do anything.”

  No surprise there. “When are you going to bring her down?”

  She looked at her watch. “Oh, shit. I was supposed to start getting her ready five minutes ago.” She didn’t move.