“Really?” Gilda said. “I guess grief can bring people together. I know that you and your brother lost a family member, too. Please don’t think — based on my behavior in the courtroom — that I forgot that. I really didn’t.”
“I understand.”
“Eden, do you know Tabby?” Gilda asked.
“I talked to her years ago,” Eden replied. “I know she was very close to Nina.”
“Oh yes, those two were like sisters. I had three more children after Nina, but they were all boys. I don’t think it’s the same thing for a girl, having brothers.”
Frost, who’d been closer to Katie than anyone else in his life, didn’t bother correcting her. “I’m sorry to reopen an old wound, Mrs. Flores, but your daughter is an important part of this case. In order to get Rudy Cutter back in prison — and make sure he doesn’t harm anyone else — we need to understand what really happened between him and Nina.”
Gilda’s weary face showed that she’d been down this road many times. “Yes, I know. She was the first.”
“That’s right.”
“I don’t know what more I can tell you. Nothing I said back then seemed to help.”
“We know a lot more about this case — and about Rudy Cutter — than we did in those days,” Frost said.
“I suppose so, but by the time we found out about Cutter, years had gone by. It’s been even longer now. What exactly do you want?”
“I’m interested in finding similarities between Nina and the other victims,” Frost said. “I know the families have gotten together over the years. Did you discover personal connections to any of them? Was there any overlap in your lives? It doesn’t matter how trivial it may have been.”
“No, Tony and I never really got to know the other families. We went to a couple of the early support-group meetings, but we chose not to participate after that. It was too painful to be reminded of it.”
“Is there anything else about Nina that might help me?” Frost asked.
Gilda glanced over her shoulder at the stairs. “Would you like to see her bedroom?”
“Yes, I would. Thank you.”
Nina’s mother led Frost and Eden to the second floor. It was obvious that Gilda’s hip bothered her; she didn’t climb well. At the top of the stairs, she pointed at a bedroom with a closed door at the end of the hallway. A framed photograph of Nina — one of her high school graduation pictures — was hung on the door.
“That’s her room,” Gilda said. “You’re welcome to look inside. I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can go in there myself.”
Frost nodded. Eden put an arm around the woman’s shoulder and squeezed. They waited until Gilda made her way back downstairs, and then Frost walked to the end of the hallway and opened the bedroom door. Nina’s sunny smile in the photograph beckoned him inside. He turned on an overhead light, and then he went to the window, which overlooked the street, and parted the curtains. Eden hovered in the doorway.
“Have you been here before?” Frost asked.
“I have.”
“Does it look the same?”
“Frozen in time,” Eden replied.
It was a teenager’s bedroom, more for a girl than a young woman. Nina had been twenty-one when she was killed, but the room still felt as if it belonged to a high schooler. Frost saw a life that had revolved around religion, family, and friends. A crucifix was hung over the twin bed, which was perfectly made with a red flowered comforter. He saw a collage of photographs of Nina and her brothers and cousins on the wall. A pewter star engraved with the word believe dangled from a thumb tack. He saw a beautiful pen-and-ink sketch of Gilda in the hospital, holding her newborn baby. Underneath the sketch was a label written in script: Gilda and Nina. And below it was the date — April 1 — which was Nina’s birthday.
Several photographs, handmade into buttons, were spread like polka dots across the bed, along with a plastic crown that had the number “21” glued to the front with rhinestones. He remembered that Nina had been wearing these buttons, and the crown, at the coffee shop on her twenty-first birthday.
Rudy Cutter would have seen the buttons pinned to Nina’s shirt. It had to have been a reminder that Wren would have turned twenty-one that year, too. If his daughter had lived.
Frost picked them up one by one. There were five of them. One button was made from the same graduation photograph that was hung on her bedroom door. Another was obviously a wedding photograph of her parents. Two others were vacation photos: Nina in a one-piece swimsuit in a Las Vegas hotel pool, Nina and her brothers posing by the rim of the Grand Canyon.
The last photograph had been taken right here in Nina’s bedroom. He could see the wall, the pictures, the pen-and-ink sketch, and the pewter star in the background. There were two girls beaming in the picture, their cheeks together, their smiles like high-wattage lightbulbs. Two best friends. Nina Flores and Tabby Blaine.
Tabby hadn’t changed much in nine years. She had a self-awareness that stood out next to Nina’s little-girl innocence. Watch me, her face said. Go ahead, I dare you. Her green eyes teased the camera. Her freckles made a constellation of stars around the button of her nose. He saw streaks of gold hiding in her long red hair.
Frost retrieved his phone and took close-up pictures of each of the buttons so he could review the details later.
“So your brother’s dating Tabby Blaine,” Eden murmured, coming up behind him.
“How about we leave that detail off the record?”
“Sorry, Frost, I can’t do that. Two murders that give birth to a love story? That’s a perfect anecdote for a true-crime book.”
“Duane and Tabby are dating. I didn’t say it was a love story.”
“No? Your face says otherwise. Is it serious between them?”
“If you want to know more, talk to them. Not me.”
Her eyes narrowed with curiosity. “You sound annoyed. Why, are you jealous? Do you like Tabby, too? I remember her as being pretty cute.”
He dodged her innuendo because he didn’t want to admit that she’d struck a nerve. “You interviewed Tabby back then?”
“I did.”
“What did she tell you?”
“Not much. I don’t think she liked me.”
“Surprise, surprise.”
Eden offered him a look of mock astonishment. “Why do you say that? I’m very likable. Mrs. Flores likes me.”
“Mrs. Flores isn’t a single woman. How many single women friends do you have?”
“A number approaching zero,” she acknowledged.
“And male friends?”
“Countless. Okay, you’ve made your point.”
Frost’s lips twitched into a smile. Eden was the one who looked annoyed now. She liked to analyze others, but he didn’t think she appreciated being analyzed herself.
He put Nina’s buttons down on the bed, trying to position them exactly as they’d been. There was a reverence about them, he thought, which was why Gilda Flores had kept them all these years. Even so, if the buttons held a secret, he couldn’t figure out what it was.
“There has to be a clue here, but I’m missing it,” Frost said, surveying the bedroom again with frustration. “You’ve been here before. What do you think?”
“I’m just a writer.” Her voice had an impatient note. She was still unhappy with him.
“You’re a writer who doesn’t miss much,” he said.
“Well, all I see is what you see. I’m sorry. If I knew more than that, Frost, I’d tell you.”
Eden turned with a swish of her curly hair and stalked out of the bedroom, and his gaze followed her long legs as she left.
It occurred to Frost that spending more time with Eden hadn’t changed his mind. He still didn’t trust her.