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crossed on her knee. Julianne Harris answered on the second ring.

“Do you have news about my daughter?” she said without preamble.

“Mrs. Harris, thank you for taking my call. I appreciate—”

“I don’t want to talk about what’s been happening to you, Lieutenant. What do you need?”

Short and snappy. Taylor knew she was only going to have one shot at this. “Mrs. Harris, were you aware that Corinne was taking medication for anxiety?”

There was silence, then Mrs. Harris sighed deeply.

“Yes,” she said.

“Do you know why she was so…anxious?” Taylor asked.

There was silence again. “Let me ask that a different way,” Taylor said. Mrs. Harris interrupted.

“No, Lieutenant, you don’t need to do that. Yes, she was anxious. She was having panic attacks about the baby. She wouldn’t tell me why, but I had my suspicions.”

“Which were?”

“I don’t want to defame my daughter, Lieutenant. I think it would be best if we stopped now.”

“Was Corinne having an affair, Mrs. Harris?”

Mrs. Harris gave an anguished whimper. “Oh, God. How did you find out?”

I guessed, Taylor thought. “Who was she involved with?”

“That I don’t know. I don’t even know for sure that she was having an affair. She was acting so strangely before she died. Erratic. Obsessed. I’ve only seen her like that one other time, over a boy she had a crush on 304

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in high school. They dated briefly, very briefly, and when he broke up with her, she collapsed. Sank into a deep depression, began writing letters to the boy, begging him to take her back. It was a phase, we snapped her out of it after a few weeks. Lately, though, she’s had that air about her. A mother always knows when something’s wrong with her daughter, Lieutenant. I don’t know any more than that.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Harris. You’ve been a huge help.”

They clicked off, and Taylor tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. Todd Wolff changed his story about when he had sex with Corinne the last time. He initially said they hadn’t had sex that week. An affair would explain the semen. The DNA wasn’t back yet, that would confirm or destroy Wolff’s claims. If Corinne was having an affair, who was her lover?

She made her notes, thought for a few minutes, then decided to keep pushing. Thalia Abbott was next on her list.

The bright morning sun created a glare off the midtown skyscrapers. Lost in thought, shielding her eyes, Taylor didn’t see the dark-haired man watching her from across the street.

Back in the truck, Taylor pulled the piece of paper with Thalia Abbott’s name and number on it from her wallet. She dialed the number, was pleased when a soft voice answered on the first ring.

Taylor introduced herself as a friend of Jasmine’s. She didn’t identify herself as a cop. It would serve two purposes: first, not chasing Thalia off; second, that bitch Delores Norris wouldn’t be able to say she’d been false with a source. Thalia didn’t ask what Taylor Judas Kiss

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wanted, said she’d be happy to meet with her, and Taylor asked if now would be inconvenient. The girl agreed, asked Taylor to meet her at St. Ann’s Catholic Church off Charlotte Pike in forty minutes. Taylor clicked off the phone. Plenty of time.

She put the 4Runner in gear. Taking advantage of a brief lull in traffic, she pulled a U-turn and headed back toward Vanderbilt. As she passed the stone entrance to the campus, her cell phone rang. Damn, this better not be the kid changing her mind. She glanced at the screen. Baldwin. Composing her voice, she turned down the radio, better to fake the quiet of home. Prepared, she answered with a chipper, “Hey, babe.”

“Taylor, why aren’t you at home?”

Man, that was quick. How did he find out? She debated. Lie, say she was at home, or cop to it?

Knowing Baldwin, he had cause to believe she wasn’t at home—either the guard had blabbed or she had silent, quiet followers. She opted for the latter, she’d laid it on pretty thick with the guard. Might as well stick to the truth.

“I couldn’t stand to sit there and not do anything. You of all people should respect that.”

“And you of all people should understand how dangerous this situation is.” But she heard the resignation in his voice. He was only annoyed, not fully angry with her. He did know her, and the realization made her smile.

“I do. I assume you’ve got someone on my tail?”

“You weren’t checking?”

“Like I said, I assumed.”

“Sloppy, Taylor. It could be Aiden, not a service detail.”

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“If it were, you wouldn’t be calling me, you’d be here brandishing your sword. I don’t need protecting, babe.”

“You need it more than you realize. But that’s neither here nor there. What exactly are you up to?”

“Ummm…following a lead.”

“I wish you’d let me handle the tapes. Sherry has gotten more information, we’re ready to go after them.”

“That’s great news. No, I’m following up on an interview related to the Corinne Wolff case.”

“Taylor, do I need to remind you—”

“No, you don’t. I know. I have no badge. I have no authority. I will endanger the investigation if I get involved.” The bitterness in her tone surprised her. The anger at being suspended was closer to the surface than she’d like to admit. Damn the Oompa!

“Okay, okay. Listen, when we finish, do me a favor. I’m going to text message your detail and let them know you’re aware of them and they don’t have to hang back as much. Your job is to let them stay with you. From what I hear, you drive like a bat out of hell.”

Taylor drove up Murphy Road, turned north on 46th in front of McCabe golf course. She wended her way through Sylvan Park. Crossing over Colorado Avenue, she began mentally plotting the geographical location of all the states as she went by their street names. It was a game she and Sam had played as little girls riding from Belle Meade through Sylvan Park to get to Bobby’s Dairy Dip on Charlotte Avenue. They tallied points—one for each state capital named, one for each neighboring state identified. Sam’s parents were forced to take different routes each time so the girls could have Judas Kiss

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new challenges. The winner got to choose their ice cream treat first.

Taylor remembered the intensity with which they played, the fervor, the laughter when they were wrong. The triumph of sometimes beating Sam, who at seven already possessed a weird, encyclopedic knowledge of useless trivia. It would be nice to go back to a time when the most important thing in her life was getting her ice cream first.

What the hell. She turned left onto Charlotte, past her goal of St. Ann’s to the next block. She pulled into the Dairy Dip, open for business with a line at nine in the morning. There was never a bad time for a good juicy burger and some ice cream.

Taylor returned to the 4Runner with a chocolatedipped twist cone, sugar, not cake. She climbed in the truck, locked the doors, then licked and ruminated. Maybe she should have signaled that she was taking a break, offered to buy her detail ice cream. Then again…

When she was finished, she crumpled the paper napkin, thin even by fast-food standards, wiped her mouth and started the truck. She backtracked a couple of blocks to St. Ann’s, swinging around behind the building. She parked with the nose of the truck pointing out to Charlotte, counted off a full minute to allow her shadows to get into place, then exited the vehicle. Following the mounted signs, she walked toward the school. An eclectic Catholic church, St. Ann’s ministered to the local community, holding mass in English, Spanish and Korean throughout the day. The school had a popular K-8 program for both parishioners and non-Catholic parents looking for a solid private parochial education for their children. 308