“You fucking motherfucker!” the woman screamed as she uprooted a small bush. “I told you! I told you someone killed my baby!”
Jo gasped when the door opened and an officer appeared, his service revolver drawn. He lowered the firearm when he recognized the attacker. “Mrs. Welsh? Put the begonia down!”
The woman lobbed the plant at his head. Her aim was surprisingly good, but he ducked just in time. “I fucking told Rocca someone killed her and you fuckers did nothing. Now some other girl is dead. You fucking useless pieces of shit! This is on you!”
Jo steered her car into the station’s parking lot and hopped out. Her gut was telling her the woman was the mother of one of the girls Nessa had seen on the beach.
“Mrs. Welsh!” A second policeman with a gun ran outside. Someone was going to get shot.
“Fuck you! Go ahead and shoot me, you spineless piece of shit. What the fuck do I have to live for, anyway?”
The woman reached down for a large rock, and Jo knew the time had come to intervene. She sprinted toward the flower bed and grabbed the woman by the wrist.
“Don’t,” she heard herself tell the drunk woman. “Not now.”
Jo’s iron grip seemed to convince the woman that a struggle wasn’t worth it. She dropped the rock, and Jo released her. The woman teetered for a moment, then fell backward onto her butt. “Who the fuck are you?” she demanded.
“My name is Jo Levison.” She held out a hand and pulled the woman up to her feet. Mulch from the flower beds remained stuck to the woman’s boxer shorts.
“I’ve seen you before,” the woman said. “You were on the news.”
“I was,” Jo said. “I was one of the people who found the girl today.”
“My girl is out there, too.” The woman’s jaw was clenched tightly enough to break all her teeth. The stench of alcohol wafted from her skin. “And these worthless motherfuckers won’t even look!”
“I’ll help you find her,” Jo told the woman.
The woman’s face went slack with surprise. She didn’t know what to make of Jo’s offer. “You will?”
One of the police officers was inching toward them as though they were terrorists with bombs strapped to their chests rather than two civilians armed with nothing more than begonias. “Mrs. Welsh,” he said. “You need to come with me. I’m going to have to book you for destruction of government property.”
“Oh, come on,” Jo said. “She threw a couple of plants. What property did she destroy?”
“There’s a crack in one of the windows.”
“I’ll have it fixed,” Jo said. “I own Furious Fitness. I’ll send my repairperson over to take a look tomorrow. Whatever it costs, I’ll pay the bill. Now save yourself some paperwork and let me take this lady home. As soon as we’re gone, you can go back to looking at naked ladies on your phone.”
It had just been a shot in the dark, but the look on his face told her she hadn’t missed the mark.
“Why are you helping me, rich lady?” the woman whispered as Jo led her away.
“What makes you think I’m rich?” Jo asked.
The woman responded with a drunken titter. “If you weren’t rich, that cop would have shot your ass. Where you from, anyways?”
“Here,” Jo said.
“Me too! How’d you end up looking like one of those bitches who show up every summer?”
“I don’t know. I guess I just got lucky.” It was the only explanation Jo could offer.