by Rita Herron
45.
Ellie’s heart tugged for Ms. Eula. She lived alone on the mountain, away from the stares and ugly whispers. Because no one understood her, some feared her.
Or was it because she’d murdered her husband, like the rumors claimed?
It didn’t matter. That was ancient history. She had a child killer to find.
The sound of a male voice rumbled from the bar, and she pivoted. Dammit, if Bryce wasn’t there with a beer in hand, wolfing down a pulled pork sandwich.
She caught his eye as she crossed the room to place a to-go order. She and Derrick ordered barbecue plates with coleslaw, Hoppin’ John and collards. A drink would be nice, but she had too much work to do right now, so chose sweet tea instead.
Feeling Bryce’s eyes on her, she decided to confront him. Derrick stood by her, solemn and stoic.
“You leaked information to Angelica Gomez, didn’t you?” she snapped.
Bryce’s lips twitched as if fighting a smile, then he wiped barbecue sauce from the corner of his mouth with a napkin. “I was just doing my job,” he said. “Besides, Randall asked me to handle the press. Said you were busy.”
Anger hardened her tone. Her father again. “Using this missing little girl to make your campaign is low even for you, Bryce.”
Anger flashed in his eyes. Then something else. Regret? A second later, it was gone. He slanted an irritated look toward Derrick. “Your daddy mentioned a feebie was in town. I didn’t realize you’d called for help.”
“She didn’t,” Derrick said, his voice lethally calm. “Don’t screw up this case with your political agenda, Deputy. There’s more at stake than you know.”
Bryce’s eyes seethed with fury. “Then why don’t we work together, and you share information with me?”
Ellie stabbed him in the chest with her finger. “Because I know you like to talk. Now stay out of my way, Bryce.”
Derrick took a half-step closer. “Do what she says, or Detective Reeves will be the least of your problems. We’ll let you get back to your beer. We have police work to do.”
As the waitress brought their food, Ellie reached for her wallet. Derrick stepped away from Bryce, shook his head and paid the bill. “You got lunch.”
Ellie snatched up the bag, anxious to get away from Bryce.
“That guy’s an asshole,” Derrick said as they climbed back into the Jeep.
Yes, he is, thought Ellie. Always has been. Back in high school, Bryce had spread a rumor he’d screwed her behind the bleachers. After that, she’d had to fend off horny teenagers thinking she was easy. “Didn’t take you long to figure that out.” Yet her father was still backing him. Go figure.
Body taut with tension, she peeled from the parking lot and raced toward the station. Captain Hale was gone when they arrived, and Heath was monitoring incoming calls for the tip line. She spread the food on the table in the conference room, and Derrick organized his files. The pictures of the little girls taunted Ellie from the white board. Blonde, brunette, auburn hair. Blue eyes, hazel, brown. This stalker didn’t have a type.
Except for the age. He liked them young.
That thought sent a shudder through her, and she prayed Laney wouldn’t find evidence of sexual abuse.
Tracing her finger over the pictures, she murmured each girls’ name, determined to see them as people, not just victims. She could practically hear their cries for help. Begging for justice.
Did the bones they’d found today belong to one of them?
Derrick stood in front of the board studying the photographs, lingering in front of his sister’s. Her chest constricted at the anguish in his expression.
Finally pulling himself away, Derrick booted up his computer and opened the interviews he’d copied onto his hard drive, and they ate while they reviewed them. Ellie barely tasted the smoky, sweet barbecue, or the hot sauce she added to her greens, although her stomach thanked her as she washed the meal down with sweet tea.
Some of the film was old, grainy and poor quality, but the situations were all similar. A law enforcement officer sat in a room questioning the missing girls’ loved ones.
By the third interview, the stories grew increasingly more difficult to watch. It was heart-wrenching to see mothers and fathers crying, begging the police to find their children, their fear turning to anger when the officer suggested the parent might be responsible. Neighbors, teachers, relatives, coaches were interrogated.
All ended without a lead.
“Most of the mothers mentioned a toy or clothing the child had with them when they disappeared. A key chain, pop bead necklace, a rag doll,” Ellie said. “Were any of those items ever found?”
Derrick shook his head. “No. Kim was wearing a locket my mom gave her as a birthday present. But searchers never located it.”
Ellie’s heart squeezed. Serial predators often kept souvenirs from their victims. Had this man kept the little girls’ personal items to remember them by?
She continued to skim the files, her heart stuttering when she saw Cord’s name appear on one of the reports. Three videos later, and another mother mentioned Cord. “He was close by and heard us calling her name,” the father said.
Ellie grew more uncomfortable with each interview.
By the time she’d watched the last video, nausea threatened. She didn’t like the ugly thoughts crowding her head. Why hadn’t Cord mentioned working the other missing children cases?
“Where’s my father’s interview with your parents?” Ellie asked.
Derrick’s expression darkened. “There wasn’t one.”
Ellie tapped her boot on the floor. “I guess it was so long ago, it wasn’t common practice.”
“No,” Derrick said. “My mother said he taped them, but I was told the tape was missing. So were some of his notes. Apparently, they were lost in an office fire.”
Ellie combed through her memory banks. She didn’t ever recall a fire in her father’s office.
46.
Somewhere on the AT
They were yelling the little girl’s name all over the mountain. He’d hidden on the ridge above the park where he’d found her and watched the panic as the parents ran around looking for her. Then they’d called the rescue workers.
The same woman who’d been talking to the mama that first day had been on the news, too. Detective Ellie Reeves.
That golden hair. Eyes the color of a robin’s egg. Skin pale and milky.
She looked just like she had as a child. He’d been looking for her for years. A giddy feeling stole through him. And now here she was, back on the mountain looking for him!
The little girl’s cries from inside the mine shaft drifted to him, a reminder that she was crying for her mama.
Mama should have been watching her daughter better though. So should the daddy. But they hadn’t, and now she was his.
He piled branches in front of the shaft opening, then hunkered down to whittle by the fire.
More dolls. So many dolls.
He hated the silly little things. But the girls liked them. And when he told them he’d hand-carved them, they wanted to hold them. Play pretend. Give them made-up names and a beautiful princess life.
Caught up in their fantasy world, they followed him to see his dollhouse. The three-story mansion with the pretty pink shutters and the twirling lights on top.
Maybe one day he’d build it.
Laughter bubbled in his chest.
Then again, maybe not.
There was no need for a dollhouse. Why should the wooden creatures have luxuries he didn’t have? The dolls could sleep on the ground like him.
He picked up another piece of wood and traced his finger over the grain. Then he slanted the edge of the knife blade and cut into it. The wood began to splinter in his hands, and he repeated the motion a dozen times. But the images of that detective flashed behind his eyes, and his finger slipped, slicing into the tip of his thumb.
He raised his hand and watched the blood drip ont
o the ground, the color blurring as the urge to see Ellie Reeves up close built inside him.
It wasn’t time yet. He’d play the game a little longer. Lead her deeper into the woods, watch her squirm and hunt.
He wrapped a handkerchief around his bloody thumb, then collected three of the little dolls and put them in the coffin he’d carved to hold them. Then he put out the fire and set out down the mountain.
He’d leave Ellie Reeves a present for when she got home tonight. Some of his precious little dolls to remind her that he wasn’t finished.
47.
Crooked Creek
Ellie and Derrick jotted down anything remotely similar in the cases in an attempt to pinpoint a common suspect in all of the disappearances.
The trail was their only clue.
As much as Ellie hated to admit it, her father and Cord were the only two people who’d been involved in multiple cases.
Except her father had made a note that he’d questioned more than one Shadow person. Someone he hadn’t named had mentioned seeing a man in dark clothing running from the area where Kim went missing. But the man had disappeared and no one in the mountains knew who he was. Or if he was dangerous.
Was it possible the killer was one of them?
According to her father, the Shadows had a secret method of communicating and passing messages among themselves. But they didn’t share it with anyone. Especially the law.
Maybe one of them had seen something in the woods.
An email from the ME pinged on her phone. “Laney says the forensic anthropologist will be here in the morning,” she told Derrick after reading it. “Hopefully, tomorrow we’ll have answers about the victim’s identity, cause of death and more about the timing.”
A muscle ticked in Derrick’s jaw. This was personal for him. Painful.
Ignoring the temptation to comfort him, she pulled up the photos she’d taken at the gravesite and scrolled through them, searching for some indicator of who’d buried the little girl. Zeroing in on the tombstone marker and the etching, she wondered about the significance.
Something niggled at the back of her mind. Cord again… she was sure he had a collection of books on the history of grave markers and tombstones in his house. When she’d spent the night with him, she’d noticed a shelf of books by the fireplace, but when she’d started to look at one, he’d yanked it away from her. Then he’d become brusque and distant.
“The cross was carved by someone who’s an expert,” Derrick commented.
Ellie’s pulse jumped. Her father whittled, said it relaxed him. He even sold his decoy ducks at the festivals in town.
No… she couldn’t allow Derrick to make her suspicious of her own father. She might be angry with him, but he’d always been her hero. He’d rescued countless individuals and families over the years. Countless children.
“Look at the angel,” she said. “Her finger is pointing north. There’s a tiny marking above it.”
“What do you think it means?”
“The angel may be trying to tell us something.” Ellie enlarged the photo. Recognition hit her as she studied the image etched above the angel. “It’s a hemlock tree.”
Derrick scraped his hand over his stubble. “You’re sure?”
Ellie nodded. “There’s a place called Hemlock Holler on the trail.” Ellie stood and stretched her aching shoulders. Her body teemed with the need to follow the clue tonight. But a glance at the clock, the pounding rain outside and common sense told her it was too late. “First thing in the morning, I’m hiking up to take a look. There may be another body buried there.”
“Or the killer could be leading you into a trap,” Derrick said as he snagged his keys from his pocket.
True. She caught him at the door. “Listen, Derrick, I know you want this guy and it’s personal, but don’t go up there by yourself. I don’t have time to hunt your ass down when you get lost.”
One brow slid upward. “You assume I’ll get lost?”
She gave a half-crooked smile. “More seasoned hikers than you have. We’ll go together first thing.”
Tension filled the silence, as if he was trying to decide whether or not to trust her.
But he had no choice. She was right and he knew it.
Ellie was leading this investigation. And she knew these mountains better than he did.
“All right. I’ll be up early,” he replied. “Text me when you’re ready to go.”
As soon as the door closed behind him, Ellie texted Cord.
Need to see you. Your house?
Seconds passed. Just when she thought he wasn’t going to reply, he responded and told her to come over.
Yanking on her coat, ski cap and gloves, she headed out to her SUV, the sleet and cold battering her. She’d only been to Cord’s cabin a couple of times, once after a long search and rescue before she joined the academy. The cabin sat on a ridge deep in the mountain, isolated from town. He said he liked it that way. At the time, she’d thought it odd, but then Cord was mysterious and not the social type. Truthfully, she wasn’t either, so it had never bothered her. Except that he kept his house pitch-dark. Didn’t like lights on.
And she had to have light.
Memories of the night they’d shared resurfaced. Infatuated with her father’s work and determined to follow in his footsteps, she’d volunteered to help on search and rescue missions. The fact that Cord had worked with her father made the volunteer work even more appealing. At sixteen, as a tomboy teen, she’d been drawn to Cord’s tough, brooding exterior. Her father bragged about Cord’s instincts and his knowledge of nature.
The fact that he didn’t want to discuss his upbringing had intrigued her even more. The summer after graduation, right before she’d left for the police academy, she’d dogged him in the hunt for a lost teen.
Exhausted and half frozen from a two-day search and after rescuing the boy from a mudslide, she’d wound up spending the night at Cord’s.
Running on adrenaline from the harrowing rescue, they’d ripped each other’s clothes off and had fast, hot sex. Intense sex.
But that’s all it had been. When she’d wanted to know more, why he insisted on pitching the room in total darkness while they’d slept together, he clammed up. Wouldn’t answer her questions about his past or the scar on his forehead.
The next morning, he’d been dressed when she woke up and had ushered her to the door, his voice holding a mountain of regret. Embarrassed but telling herself it was for the best, that she was starting a new life, she left the next morning without looking back.
Still, sometimes when she looked at him, or on a cold lonely night, her skin tingled at the memory of their night together.
But it didn’t pay to get involved with the men she worked with.
Muddied everything. She wanted their respect more than she wanted them in her bed.
Besides, she’d pegged him as a bad boy with too many issues, who’d break her heart if she gave in.
Forcing herself into the present, the starless night engulfed Ellie in its eeriness as she turned off the main highway and wove around the sharp switchbacks. Thunder rumbled again, more rain hammering her car. The wind had pulled off a loose branch and tossed it into the road, and she had to veer around it. The sky was hidden by the thick forest, the spiny branches intertwined like braided rope.
Hopefully, Stony Gap would get at least one day of the festival in before Storm Tempest brought life to a halt.
She slowed and turned onto a narrow one-lane drive that disappeared into the woods. Cord’s rustic cabin sat at the end, with the river running behind it. Pines and oaks shrouded the house, which looked as if it had been built on the very edge of the ridge, into the mountain itself. She remembered looking out the sliding glass doors and getting dizzy at the sight of the holler so far below.
There were no other houses or cabins for miles and miles. No one to watch. No one to hear.
A lone light glowed from the side porch. Otherwise, darkness bat
hed the property, making it look almost spooky.
She parked, ducking against the elements as she picked her way along the stone walkway then climbed the steps, the sound of the river echoing in the quiet of the night.
He opened the door before she knocked, his five o’clock shadow thick and dark, adding to the dangerous edge of his chiseled features. Dark circles rimmed his smoky eyes, and the scar on his forehead looked more stark in the sliver of firelight coming from the wood stove.
“We have to talk.” She pushed past him. Without the lights on, the house felt almost cave-like, making her shiver with the frightening memory of being lost all those years ago.
Even though she’d had nightmares the night she’d stayed with him, Cord insisted on keeping the light off when they were in bed. When she’d flipped on the lamp, he’d gone cold all over and had immediately switched it off.
Then he’d reached for his clothes, and any intimacy between them had been suddenly ended.
He closed the door behind her now, questions filling his eyes. Her gaze fell to that bandage on his arm, and he tugged his sleeve over it.
Cord cleared his throat. “Did the ME identify the body?”
“Not yet. Hopefully tomorrow.”
Not bothering to wait for an invitation, she crossed into the living room, grateful for the wood stove’s warmth. Cord’s house was minimalist. A reddish-brown leather couch and a chair with a bearskin rug on the floor. A battered wooden table with straight back wooden chairs. No pictures or personal items. No cozy blankets or warm homey scents.
Taxidermy animals sat on the shelf on the far wall. A wild cat. An odd-looking black cat. A mountain lion’s head hung above them. He’d added those since she’d been here last.
Unease made her heart skip a beat. “I didn’t know you were into taxidermy.”
He made a low sound in his throat, then shrugged.
The way the animals’ lifeless eyes pierced her made the hair on the nape of her neck prickle. Desperate for light, she flipped on the lamp by the coffee table that had been carved from a tree trunk. Cord tensed for a moment, but he didn’t move to extinguish it.