worn floorboards and slunk into the near-dead shrubbery.
The door was open, only a screen door in place, and from the dark interior she heard muted conversation—no, more likely a television and maybe the sizzle of something being cooked, bacon frying, she guessed from the smell emanating through the rusted mesh. A bluish glow was visible down a short hallway, a TV at the back of the house.
She pounded on the frame of the screen door, then waited.
Nothing. But Franklin’s dusty Suburban, with all of its windows rolled down, was parked in the driveway. Unfortunately, Kywin’s jacked-up truck wasn’t in sight, which didn’t bode well.
She rapped again and this time heard a grunt, then a deep voice yelling, “I’m coming! Hell. What now?” Floorboards creaked as Franklin Bell, all six-four and three-hundred-plus pounds of him, lumbered from the back of the house to the front.
“For shit’s sake,” he said when he spied Alvarez. He was unshaven, his trucker’s cap squarely in place. “You’re Pescoli’s partner. What the hell do you want?” His gaze swept the porch and dry lawn as if searching for the other detective.
“To talk to Kywin?”
“Again? Didn’t you already do that? More’n once.”
“New information. I need to speak to him.”
“He ain’t here. Neither of my boys are.”
“Where is he?”
“Don’t know,” he retorted with satisfaction.
“When do you expect him back?”
He shrugged. “He’s a damned adult. Comes and goes as he pleases.”
“And he’s the father of Destiny Rose Montclaire’s unborn baby,” she said. “Lab tests confirm it, so I need to talk to him ASAP. If he’s involved in her death, he’s looking at double homicide.”
“You’re bullshitting me—”
“DNA doesn’t lie.” She cut him off. Franklin’s usually florid face drained of color. “Your boy’s up to his eyeballs in this.” She stepped closer to the rusted screens, showing him she wasn’t intimidated. “Kywin was in contact with Destiny on the night she died, and again with Lindsay Cronin a little while before she had her ‘accident’ up on Horsebrier Ridge. So, if you hear from him, let him know that I’m looking for him, and I need to talk to him ASAP.”
“Get the fuck off my property!” he growled as the smell of burning meat wafted through the house.
“Just give him the message.”
“Didn’t you hear me? Leave!” And with that, he grabbed hold of the edge of the open door and slammed it so hard that it rattled the screen as it shut. The cat, watching from the shadows of a near-dead juniper, glowered at Alvarez as she crossed the yard and slid behind the wheel of her Subaru. She didn’t start the car immediately. First, she called the station and put in a request for a BOLO, ordering all law enforcement officers to be on the lookout for Kywin Bell’s Dodge pickup. No way was Destiny Rose’s baby daddy and possible murderer going to slip through her fingers.
CHAPTER 29
“Regan!” Luke banged like crazy on the front door, and the dogs set to barking wildly.
“Hey! Hey! Slow down,” Pescoli ordered as she swung the door open and her ex-husband stormed in. In jeans, a gray T-shirt, and boots, he whirled on his ex-wife. His face was flushed, his usually combed hair mussed, as if he’d been running his fingers through it in frustration.
“You have to do something.” He pointed an accusatory finger at Pescoli.
“Me?”
“You’re the law around here, aren’t you?” He punched a fist into the air in frustration. “Son of a bitch!” he said, showing teeth, then strode rapidly toward the family room.
“Wait a damn minute. Why are you acting like a lunatic?” She was on his heels, the dogs barking a cacophony she could do without and trailing behind her. “Quiet,” she warned Cisco. “No!”
Luke threw open the refrigerator door, found a beer, and popped the top.
“That’s got to stop,” she warned him as the door swung closed, and he had the nerve to peer into one of the sacks from Wild Wills. “This is my house. That’s my beer, and you can’t come striding in here and making demands.”
“It’s for our kid!” he said, stepping away from the counter and taking a long swig.