by CJ Lyons
“What’s your plan?” Nate asked, dropping his voice to a whisper. He gave Ruby a sidelong look, but she was humming to herself and dancing in front of the stove as she stirred the chili.
“The rain is supposed to stop tonight—my phone told me. It has maps on it, too, so we don’t get lost.”
He paused as he thought, then gave a slow nod. “We need a compass. Pops has one.”
“So did Nellie—I found an old one in one of the trunks in the attic. Do you know how to use it?”
“Yeah, kind of. Pops showed me.” From his tone, she could tell he was starting to get excited by the idea.
“So tomorrow we go over there and we get your great-great’s medal back. Then we bring it home and we’ll be heroes. Maybe my mom will even let us have ice cream. Or we can walk from the Homans’ farm over to Jericho Fields—the map says it’s not far. We could surprise your Pops, show him how you used the compass.”
Then everyone would know how brave they’d been, facing the Homans. It didn’t make up for what happened last month, when she’d been too scared to help Daddy, but maybe it was a start. She needed to do something to get rid of this constant, awful feeling inside.
Nate considered. “Sure we won’t get into trouble?”
Emily shook her head vigorously. “No. Just you see. We’re going to be heroes.”
Just like her daddy was a hero. Brave and strong.
Twenty-Five
Leah was tempted to head home. It had been an exhausting day—and she still needed to deal with Emily and what had happened at school. But she’d also promised to talk to Risa about Risa’s medical problems, so she took the elevator back up to Risa’s apartment.
As the elevator made its slow ascent, Leah wondered again about Risa’s illness. Her test results didn’t fit any one diagnosis, but if Cliff was her stalker, could he also be causing Risa’s symptoms? If he had access to Risa’s apartment, maybe he had tampered with her food, was poisoning her? A thrill ran through her at the idea that she could maybe solve the mystery and help both Risa with her symptoms and Luka with proving that Cliff was the killer. That would keep his bosses from coming down hard on him, right?
When she reached Risa’s apartment the door was ajar and Harper was standing outside it, where she could still hear everything happening inside as she spoke on her phone. It sounded as if she were arranging for the search of Risa’s apartment for surveillance devices. She jerked her head at the door indicating it was okay for Leah to enter.
Inside, Leah found Jack in the kitchen chopping herbs with an agitated pounding motion while Dom and Risa huddled over Risa’s computer. The smoke detector in the living room was down, its parts strewn over the coffee table.
“We think we found him,” Risa announced when Leah approached. “The landscaper. His name was Miguel Rivera and he went missing last year, body never found.”
“How do you know it’s him?” Leah asked, startled by their excitement. They’d all just discovered that Risa’s stalker had at the very least killed Cherise—and that he’d been watching Risa’s every move—yet Dom and Risa were so calm, focused on their own investigation.
“The clues in the letter Chaos sent,” Dom answered. He stopped himself. “Or is ‘Chaos Killer’ better, do you think? Maybe The Chaos Killer for the title and simply call him Chaos. Oh, yes, I rather like that.” He sat back, his obvious pleasure at successfully branding a serial killer taking Leah aback.
“Ignore him,” Risa said with a smile. “I gave all the details we’ve found to Detective Harper; she’s checking with the Indiana police department. If I’m right—”
“We’re right,” Dom corrected.
“Leah, you staying for dinner?” Jack called from the kitchen.
“No, no thank you.”
“Anyway,” Risa continued. “We think he’s buried in one of the hills of mulch or topsoil at his own landscaping place. His brother-in-law took it over after Miguel vanished, so they’re all still there. According to my research, the temperature inside one of those mounds can go as high as four hundred degrees. Sometimes they’ll even have a fire smoldering beneath the surface. So after all this time, there might be nothing left; even bones could be dissolved.”
“But his missing person’s report said he wore a white gold wedding band and had dental work, so they could find those if they sift through everything,” Dominic put in.
“If some unsuspecting gardener didn’t haul them home in a load of mulch.”
They sounded excited as they discussed the grisly demise of the landscaper, debating the possible condition of Miguel’s remains, arguing about the size of the mulch pile and how often it was turned. Leah could somewhat understand. A false front, denying the reality that a killer had been so close? But still, the casual, almost cheerful mood felt… off.
If Cliff was really the killer—even if he wasn’t, he absolutely was obsessed with Risa, so maybe her half-baked theory about his causing Risa’s symptoms still held? It was a long shot but wouldn’t hurt to ask. “Would Cliff have had access to any food you ate?”
Risa seemed startled. “No, I don’t think so. I mean, like I told the police, he’s been in the apartment, but I was always here and I never saw him go into the kitchen.”
“Maybe delivering groceries or takeout you ordered?”
“Jack does the shopping and the takeout guys come up—so they can get their tip.”
“Okay, it was just a thought.”
“We thought about it as well.” Dom spread his hands wide as if evoking a cinema marquee and lowering his voice as if he were a movie announcer. “Imagine a man so obsessed he’d poison a woman to keep her near. A man obsessed enough to kill, simply to entertain her with a story to investigate.” His eyes brightened. “A modern-day reverse Scheherazade. How’s that for an angle?”
“Dom, stop,” Risa snapped. “We don’t know that that’s what happened. Even if Chaos is Cliff, we can’t be sure he actually killed any of the people he wrote to me about.”
“We’re pretty sure about the landscaper,” Dom argued, not apologizing at all. “And definitely the cop’s girlfriend. Plus, how else do you explain your neighbor? It’s him, it’s got to be. And we’ve got the inside track on the story of a lifetime.”
“A reporter isn’t supposed to be part of the story,” Risa said. “I didn’t ask for this, I didn’t want any of what he wrote to actually be true. I mean—poor Trudy. And now Walt’s in the hospital. I still can’t believe it was Cliff.”
“You saw the camera they found,” Dom argued. “Believe it, get over it, and let’s nail this story before someone else does.”
Risa glared at Dom, who simply smiled in return.
Leah retreated to the kitchen, rethinking her theory. She realized that she’d gotten the timing all wrong: Risa’s symptoms had begun before the stalker began to write her. And before she’d moved to Cambria City, so Cliff couldn’t have caused them. Risa’s illness may have triggered the stalker but otherwise was unrelated.
As Leah helped herself to a glass of water, Jack gave her a bemused smile. “Don’t mind those two.” He put a large pot of water onto the stove. Jack’s movements around the tiny space were almost a dance; obviously he was familiar with the location of every utensil and ingredient. “When they get on the trail of a story, they’re incorrigible. Get lost in their own world.”
Risa had said something like that earlier, Leah remembered. “And you?”
His knuckles grew white as he wrenched a salt mill over the water with more force than the action required. “Me? I know better than to interfere. Risa, she’s been in the middle of battles—actual battles with bombs and bullets. To her, this is just another story. And Dom? He’s in full-on hustle mode. Knows that the first to break the story is the one who will cash in. But I won’t lie. I’m frightened—” He broke off, banging the salt mill on the counter.
“You’re angry she didn’t tell you about the stalker sooner,” Leah interpreted.
�
��Damn right I’m angry. It’s my job to protect her.” He glanced over his shoulder at Risa. Took a breath and blew it out. “Except I guess now it’s the police who will be doing that. So I—” He waved his hands at the assembled ingredients. “I cook. Maybe I don’t know anything about armies or wars or being shot at, but I know people need to eat.”
“It’s more important, in many ways, that you’re here for her. She’ll need that. Someone she can trust, talk to when it all hits her. It’s not easy, having your life dissected by the police.”
“You talk like you know—”
She grimaced. She still wasn’t sure exactly how to talk about Ian to strangers. “My husband—he was murdered.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” He turned away, busying himself with the food prep. “Can I ask? Did the police catch his killer? I know I won’t sleep, not until they get this guy.”
She didn’t want to tell him that even after Ian’s killer was caught the night terrors didn’t get any better. Instead, she stuck to the simplest truth. “They did. Ian’s killer was caught the day after Ian died.”
“Good.”
As he lifted three pasta bowls down from the cupboard, she asked, “Is Dom staying, then?”
“Are you kidding? With all this drama? Of course.” Jack sounded bitter. “He’s here all the time anyway, practically rents a suite in the hotel across the park.” His knife kept up a rhythmic smack against the cutting board, mincing parsley with such vigor that tiny bits of it flew into the air. “I want her to leave, but she’ll never go—not with Dom here. Too much pride. He’s the one person who has always believed in her—she’ll never risk letting him down or appearing weak to him. As soon as we finish eating, I’ll grab my stuff from my place.”
“I think Harper is arranging for the police to watch the apartment tonight,” she told him. “That should help her feel safer.”
“Think I’m going to trust the police to keep Risa safe? The lead detective’s own fiancée was a victim and he had no clue. There’s no way am I trusting her to anyone.”
Leah wanted to defend Luka, but there was no arguing the truth. Chaos knew exactly what he was doing when he sent the photo of Cherise’s ring to discredit Luka.
Laughter rang out from the living room where Dom was acting something out for Risa.
“He does make her laugh,” Jack said with a sigh. “Better than I can. She says I’m a worrywart, but you watch. After he leaves, she’ll stop pretending everything’s fine. She never lets him see her symptoms, her pain.”
“Does she have the same symptoms every time? I was reading her records before I got here, but they were much more complex than I imagined.”
“No. There’s definitely a pattern in the timing, but the symptoms are different almost every episode. Sometimes it’s like a bad stomach flu, lasting a few days, sometimes migraines with muscle shakes and cold sweats, where her face turns beet red, and her breathing speeds up. Then there’s all the medication—how do you know where the symptoms begin and the side effects take over?”
He was right. Especially given the variety of prescriptions Risa was juggling. “I’ll cross-check their side effects, see if maybe the doctors or pharmacists missed a possible interaction.”
“Thanks.” He frowned and was silent as he concentrated on stirring his red sauce. The delicious aroma reminded Leah that she needed to get home to her own dinner.
“There’s one other thing,” Jack said in a low voice that wouldn’t carry out to the others. “A few weeks ago, I found something.”
“What?”
“A bottle of ipecac hidden in Risa’s closet—tucked inside a pair of boots she hasn’t worn in years. I looked it up, it causes—”
“Severe vomiting,” Leah finished for him. Could Risa be harming herself? “Why would Risa hide the ipecac from you?”
“I don’t think she’s doing it to herself,” he replied; his expression was both earnest and concerned as he glanced over his shoulder at Risa. “I really don’t. I read about women who do that—her personality just doesn’t fit. She’d never…” His words trailed away. “I mean, why? She has everything—she’s smart and talented. Honestly, most days I’m not sure I deserve her. I have no idea why she’s stuck around a boring guy like me. So why would someone do that to themselves? Destroy their chance at happiness?”
Leah couldn’t help but glance at the wall of photos that Risa had taken. “Maybe she doesn’t think she deserves it? Happiness.”
“No way. If anyone deserves to be happy, it’s Risa.” He nodded to himself as if sealing a deal. The pasta water came to a boil. “Sure you’re not staying?”
“No, but thanks. I have family waiting at home.”
“See—that’s all I want. Me and Risa, a home. Together. Knowing that when you open that door, there’s someone waiting. Give me that and the rest of the world can go to hell, all I care. Know what I mean?”
Leah turned away, blinking hard. She’d had all that and more with Ian. But now she was alone—and worst of all, she couldn’t let anyone know how she felt, the anger and fear, the guilt, the sadness that threatened to smother her some days and most nights. She couldn’t even bring herself to tell her counselor everything—if she dropped the façade for a single instant, even with someone like him trying to help her, she’d never be able to pick it back up again.
“I’d better go.” She crossed back to the living area. “Risa, is it okay for me to share your medical records with a colleague? She might have some helpful insights.” Leah thought she’d call Maggie—the death investigator was better at puzzles like Risa’s than most physicians Leah knew. Maggie had a gift for seeing details but processing them in a way that allowed her to think outside the realms of conventional wisdom. A lot like Ian that way—and Emily.
“Is she going to bill me for a consult?” Risa answered with that falsely bright tone that Leah found so jarring.
“No.”
“In that case, you have my permission to share them with anyone you want. Dom keeps trying to get me to post them online, set loose the entire internet on solving my medical mystery.”
Leah cleared her throat. “I’d better be going.”
“Of course.” Risa pushed herself up out of the chair with some effort, Dom watching from where he sat, not moving, simply watching.
“Don’t get up,” Leah hastened to say, but it was too late. Risa waved her off when she tried to help.
“I’m fine,” Risa said through gritted teeth. “I just want to thank you, Leah. I know I’ve taken a lot of your time today—and things have turned out a bit crazy—but I’m really glad to have met you.”
Leah couldn’t help but smile. “Me, too. I’ll let you know if I find anything about your symptoms. Take care.”
“Thanks,” Risa said, leaning against her walker as she watched Leah walk away.
Leah closed the apartment door behind her. Somehow it felt a relief to leave the tiny space that was so overcrowded with emotions. She half-expected her ears to pop with the change in pressure.
Harper said goodbye to whoever she was talking to and hung up. “They’re a bunch, right? I mean, a serial killer stalking her and she’s throwing a dinner party for boyfriend and whatever-the-hell that Massimo guy is. Did you notice how he never stops looking at her? Gives me the creeps just to be in the same room.”
“Was that Luka?” Leah nodded to the phone.
“No. That was Sanchez—he’s all set with the remote monitoring of Saliba’s electronics.”
“So you’re sure it was Cliff? That he killed Trudy?” The stronger the case was against Cliff—or better yet, the faster they found him—the less damage done to Luka’s career, Leah hoped.
“He was on scene, actually called 911. He knew about Walt, how easy it would be to trigger his emotions. Hell, he even installed the damn childproof locks, knew to open the door to get Walt out onto the landing. Who else could it have been?”
“But why send the note to Dom? And let Luka know that he a
lso killed Cherise?”
“He wanted to buy time, forcing us to waste time chasing leads in another state. I mean the whole thing with the courier and signed note and telling Dom to bring it here in person. That kind of thing never happens in real life, is straight out of Hollywood. Vogel obviously never dreamed that we’d catch on to him so quickly—I’ll bet he shit his pants when we came back with the warrant to search the whole building.”
“I don’t know. It all seems so—”
“Like I said, this isn’t the movies. Ninety-nine point nine percent of the time, the killer is right there, in plain sight. But for Vogel to be an actual serial killer?” She bounced on her heels. “Now, that’s wild.”
“Not if the killer has you in his sights.”
“Luka.” Harper sobered. “You’re right. We need to watch out for the boss. Can you imagine? Losing someone you loved—” She stopped, but didn’t appear chagrined, even though Leah of all people knew exactly what that kind of loss entailed. “Luka still uses a coffee mug she gave him, you know. All these years later. Bad enough the love of your life kills herself, but then to learn she was murdered?”
“They can’t punish him or hold it against him, can they? I mean, I know they have to look into his life back then, but he had nothing to do with her death.”
“People talk, they’ll always look at him different.” She glanced over the railing down to where Trudy’s body had landed. “You know, when we got here this morning, Krichek was letting me act as lead, thought it was a simple accidental death. I was so excited. But now, with the boss involved, with someone he loved a victim…” She raised her hands and shrugged. “I’m not sure what to think or how to feel.”
“Yeah, I know…” Leah was familiar with the unique mixture of adrenaline and dread that accompanied every major case into the ER. It was a strange tightrope to walk: balancing the thrill of saving a life with the overwhelming knowledge that these were real people—people with families, with loved ones, with hopes and dreams and prayers—and their lives rested in her hands.