A Margin of Lust (The Seven Deadly Sins #1)(34)

"I was referring to her father."

"What does this have to do with anything?" The question snapped from Gwen's lips. The conversation seemed irrelevant, and she had so much to do to get ready for the open house tomorrow.

"The name came up on the schedules of all the Orange County murder victims in the week before they were killed. Seems a bit of coincidence."

Gwen inhaled sharply. "Not the Texas victims?"

"No. Not Texas."

"Moray is a pretty common name, isn't it? Was there a first name?" Gwen could hear the defensiveness in her own voice, and wondered why this bit of news made her throat constrict.

"No. Only an initial on one of the victim's calendars, K. The others just wrote Moray. Nothing else."

"What was Fiona's father's name?" Gwen wanted it to be Michael, Bob, or Andrew—anything but Kevin or Kurt.

"Edward. Not a fit. But, we're following all leads. I've already spoken to your client, but thought you might have heard something from another agent."

"No," Gwen said.

"Well," the woman pushed herself away from the table and rose in one fluid motion. "I don't recommend setting appointments to show property with anyone named Moray." Investigator Sylla showed herself out.

Gwen sat and stared at her hands folded on the table before her. The hair on her forearms stood at attention. Tension flickered across her skin like static electricity. Attaching a name, any name, to the killer gave him form, substance. He'd only been an amorphous shadow in her mind before this. He'd become a person. That he shared Fiona's maiden name was even more unsettling. An image of evil, born from the dark basement womb of the Cliff Drive house rose in her mind.

"You okay?"

Gwen jumped.

"It's just me." Maricela leaned through the doorway. "I saw that woman cop driving away when I pulled into the center. What did she want?"

"Do you know anyone named Moray?" Gwen asked.

Maricela shook her head. "Why?"

Gwen filled her in on the conversation. Maricela sank into the chair Investigator Sylla just vacated, worry clouding her face. "What do they think? Do they think it's some relative of Fiona's who's killing people?"

"She didn't say."

"You look upset?"

"I am. For some reason hearing a name terrifies me."

"Everyone has a name, chica." Maricela covered Gwen's hand with one of hers.

"I know."

"It seems good to me. Like the cops are maybe getting somewhere, closer to catching him."

"Right. You're right." Gwen said. "It's been a crazy morning."

"You know what you need?"

"What?"

"You need to go shopping."

#

A half hour later Gwen and Maricela were wandering through an antique mall downtown San Juan Capistrano looking for things to dress up their listings. Gwen held up a ceramic Toreador lamp topped by a frolicking bull lampshade. "You could do a Mexican theme."

"Or, I could shoot myself," Maricela said. "We're going tropical. Rosie—she's the decorator my clients hired—said the colors should remind people they're close to the beach. She's really good. You should talk to her about the Laguna property."

"We can't afford an interior designer. Our goal is to clean things up, downplay the house and focus attention onto the views. I just need a couple of vases. Fresh flowers cover a multitude of sins."

"I wonder what's in here?" Maricela stood at the open door of a storage room stuffed floor to ceiling with merchandise. Chairs and tables were piled one on top of another dimming the light from overhead neon bulbs.

Gwen pointed to a "sale" sign with an arrow directing buyers inside.

"Let's check it out." Maricela disappeared down a narrow path between mountains of furniture.

"I'll wait here," Gwen called after her.

"Be right back." Her voice echoed from the doorway.

Gwen browsed the booths near the entrance until Maricela returned with two vases. "How do you like these?"

"Perfect. I'll take them."

"Chica, what's with you and tight places?"

"Not sure what you mean," Gwen said. "What do you think of these bowls? You could fill them with sea shells for the coffee table—kinda tropical."

"Bonita." Maricela took them from Gwen. "But don't change the subject."

"I have a touch of claustrophobia, that's all." Gwen said.

"A touch? You wouldn't try on that skirt at the mall because the changing room was too small."

"It was too small. And dark. It was dark too."

"Have you thought about seeing someone?" Maricela asked.

Gwen stopped mid-aisle and stared at her. "You mean like a shrink?"

"No, not like a shrink. A shrink. Mine is excelente. She's helping me process that day. You know face the fear. Get past it."

"It's no big deal. I don't like to be crowded."

Truth was, she had thought about making an appointment with a counselor. The claustrophobia was getting worse. She'd had plenty of panic attacks in grade school and high school, but in college, she'd gotten control of it through method acting of all things.