comment.”
“Is Mrs. Taylor a witness or a suspect?”
A suspect! “No comment.”
“Can she identify the killer?”
Pat could feel the eyes of the onlookers crawling over her body. Oh God, I hope not.
Chapter Six
Daylight brought an unfamiliar guard to the holding cell. “All right, ladies, up and at ’em.”
The Green M&M hopped to her feet. “Someone bail us out?”
The guard scanned the room, her eyes focusing on Rasheeda’s sleeping body, the psychedelic finery cascading from her rotund form in a Dali-esque version of Easter. “Saturday is shower day.” She banged her baton on the steel mesh. “Everybody up.”
Helen stepped forward, her hair hanging in damp ropes down her back. “I’ll stay here. I like this room.”
The guard rolled her eyes. “Not gonna happen, lady. Let’s hit the showers.”
Helen rubbed her arm where the rough steel of the bench had scraped off a scab. “I don’t really need one. Too much bathing dries the skin. It’s not healthy.”
The Green M&M wrinkled her nose. “You can’t go around smelling like roadkill.”
The guard banged her baton again. “Ladies, you’re all showering.” She hooked a thumb toward Rasheeda, who had rolled over and covered her head. “Somebody wake up Sleeping Beauty. Let’s get this show on the road.”
Bobby gave the guard a slow up and down, then pointed at her black steel-toed cop shoes. Don’t go. It’s a trick. Check those out.
Helen looked. The heavy shoes did bear a striking resemblance to the ones that tried to annihilate her lawn.
The Green M&M brightened. “Come on, Helen. I’ll cut and style your hair.” She cocked her head toward the guard. “My styling kit’s at the front desk. Can we get it?”
The guard eyed Helen who had hooked her fingers through the metal of the bench. “If we let this woman fix your hair, will you take a shower?”
Bobby nodded his approval. Ask how much it will cost.
“How much do you charge? I didn’t bring my wallet.”
The Green M&M grabbed the gate, working her fingers through the mesh. “I just want to get out of here. No charge.”
“All right, let’s get a move on.” The guard waited until Rasheeda stumbled to her feet before running a key card through the electronic lock. “If you hurry, you can get a hot breakfast.”
“Breakfast!” Helen could feel her eyebrows rise. “How much does that cost?”
“The county is buyin’,” the guard answered, “but only if you take a shower.”
The Green M&M grabbed Helen’s arm. “Enough already. Let’s get you pretty.”
The Easter Egg grabbed the other arm. “Real pretty. With those big eyes and high cheekbones, you could be a real looker.”
Helen glanced back at the small room. Good company and free food. If only she could stay.
Chapter Seven
Pat parked across from the detention center, the lot almost empty. A recent addition to the city’s deteriorating east side, the newly built high-rise building stood out like a Band-Aid on a bullet hole. The rest of the neighborhood consisted of run-down apartments clustered around a dilapidated and strip mall and ranch-style houses. The architect had obviously followed regulation government specs and built a Lego-style construct to celebrate a new century of incarceration. The portico jutting out over the entrance scrupulously avoided any artistic elements that might have softened the harsh lines of the building. Consisting of a steel grid, it provided no shade of any kind.
With the shopping bag of clothes slung over her shoulder, Pat hurried across the blazing-hot asphalt, the boys close behind. Only nine in the morning, and it was already a hundred degrees.
“We’re north of Phoenix,” Marc grumbled. “I thought it would be cooler.” He shuffled along behind her, his six-two frame giving the lie to his sixteen years.
“It’s the humidity,” Pat answered looking at the clouds over the valley. She laid a hand on his arm. “You okay with this?”
He shrugged her off. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”
But he wasn’t “fine,” and she couldn’t help but worry about the moment when he came face to face with his childhood. As she stepped on the entrance mat, the glass doors slid open with a soft hiss, a blast of cold air pouring out through the double-wide opening. The lobby, a beige cavern, was decorated in a style that could only be described as “institutional”: a combination of industrial-strength steel and prison-strength plastic. The room was empty except for a female guard sitting behind a reception counter and what looked like an inmate mopping the beige tile. Dressed in incarceration orange, he casually swabbed the industrial-strength tiles with his mop, slowly working his way down one side of the room, the Madonna tattooed on his forearm gazing serenely at the outside world.
The guard gestured them forward. “Please sign in.”
“I’m Pat Henderson.” She scratched her name and address in the visitors log. “I’m here to see my sister, Helen Taylor.”
The woman’s bored expression mutated into a faint smile of relief. “Oh, yes, we’ve been expecting you.” She pointed to a door. “Right through there and down the hall to the detectives’ office. Just follow the arrows. I’ll buzz you in.”
The boys started to follow but the woman held up a hand. “Sorry. Adults only in the back.”
The inmate leaned forward on his mop. “I’ll watch ’em”—his eyes traveled slowly over the boys’ bodies.
The guard expelled a breath of exasperation. “Thanks, Carl but I’ve got it handled.” She pressed a button under the edge of her desk and the door lock released with an audible click.
Pat hesitated, not wanting to leave the boys in the same room as a criminal of dubious background and lecherous thoughts. Feeling the situation called for some motherly advice, Pat pointed an admonishing finger. “Don’t”—Don’t what? Don’t tease the inmates?—“Don’t worry. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
The boys exchanged a look, then Jordan extended his hand, palm up. “Keys, please. I’ll wait in the car.”
“Me, too,” Marc chimed in. “I need to charge my phone.”
Pat tossed the keys to Jordan, realizing they wanted to escape the creepy atmosphere of the jail as much as she did. “Okay, but no driving.” She waited until they disappeared through the entrance, then followed the painted arrows, her steps echoing down the corridor until she came to an open door marked INVESTIGATIONS.
In
