Before he could remind the Jail Captain that it wasn’t all about him and his career, Roy approached. “Let’s go.”
John thanked Ambrose, then caught up with the sheriff. “Will we get our warrant?”
He waved an envelope. “The ADA just dropped it off.”
“Quick work.”
“Six dead women, a dead guard and an attempt on an inmate’s life greased the wheels,” Roy said after they signed out of the jail and headed through the door.
“Have you heard back from Carl yet?”
“I called while I was waiting on the ADA. Carl was busy prepping Lauren Sundahl, but Dean said they have all the toxicology reports on the first five victims. All were clean except one Jane Doe. She had traces of cocaine in her system along with alcohol.”
Once they were in the parking lot, John stopped him. “I’m surprised Courtney didn’t have anything in her system. The prostitutes I could understand. They’d likely gone willingly with Winston. But Courtney? I’d think the killer would have used something to sedate her, unless...”
“She knew the guy.”
“Who somehow knows and worked with Winston.”
Roy nodded. “Right. And now his partner wants him dead. But what about the evidence? It points back to Winston. You heard Mitchell. Sundahl had been dead for four or five days. And Carl believes Courtney was likely killed last Friday, six days ago. Winston was on the move then.”
“We have an extra set of foot prints at the original dumpsite.”
“Which could have been there before Winston dumped the bodies,” Roy countered.
“Then why change his MO with Courtney? Why gut and sodomize her?”
Roy grimaced. “Maybe he just changed things up that time.”
“Guys like Winston don’t change things up, they stick with what works. And based on Celeste’s trance—”
“Stop. You know as well as I do, that I believe in Celeste, but her trance proves shit without concrete evidence. Today’s victim was strangled, just like all of Winston’s victims. You saw it. Mitchell confirmed it.”
“But if she was sodomized?”
“Who’s to say Winston didn’t rape her both ways?”
John winced, and turned away toward his car. Logically, he knew the sheriff was right.
Three days ago, he would have assumed Winston had killed all the women alone, except for Courtney. She had been different, and he stood by his theory that someone other than Winston had ended her life. But Celeste had changed his perception. He believed her, in her...and his gut. Right now his gut was overriding that side of his brain that insisted on a purely rational approach and depended on hard evidence.
He stopped in front of his car, then turned to the sheriff. “Then explain today. Actually, explain why you’re fighting me on this? You were the one who bought into Celeste’s psychic stuff when she’d said there was another killer and more bodies. Not me. Now I’m the one defending her?”
The sheriff looked to the ground and leaned against the rental car.
“Roy, I firmly believe Winston has a partner. A partner who wants him dead. Hoyt was up to his ass in debt. Maybe Winston’s partner knew this, or knew something else he could blackmail Hoyt with to coerce him into killing Winston.”
“C’mon, Kain,” the sheriff snapped. “A guy doesn’t just wake up one day, meet a guy on the street and decide the two of them should start raping and killing together.”
“Right, trust is the key here. What Winston and our second killer have done requires a heavy amount of trust.”
Roy shook his head. “Look, in the beginning, based on Celeste’s vision, I thought maybe we were looking for a second killer—separate from Winston. But you truly believe we’re looking for Winston’s partner?”
“I do, and I guarantee he wants Winston dead, because he doesn’t trust him to keep his mouth shut.”
“Then why would Winston confess without an attorney present?” Roy threw his arms in the air. “Hell, why confess at all?”
“Maybe he and his partner had a backup plan.”
“Backup plan?” the sheriff scoffed. “Like he’d been prepared for this to happen? Had an escape already planned out?” He shook his head. “Sounds too Hollywood to me.”
Boysen pulled into the parking lot.
“Here we go,” Roy said with disgust.
“It’s time to give him something, and I’d rather have him run his article the way we want.”
The sheriff narrowed his eyes. “How’s that?”
“Without Celeste’s name being mentioned.”
Roy’s eyes softened. “We’ve already been over this.”
The sheriff was right. He was repeating himself, making his feelings for Celeste clear. Too clear. “Roy, I...”
He raised his hand and took a step back. “I get it, and I’m going to make my conversation with Boysen quick. I want to get home to Bev on good time. I need...” He drew in a deep breath. “John, I knew Curtis Hoyt for over twenty years. I’m sorry if I’ve been a kind of a prick, but the thought of telling his wife her husband is dead, then waving a search warrant in her face isn’t settling well with me.”
Shoving a hand in his pant pocket, John touched the roll of antacids he’d remembered to carry today.
Roy’s mustache tilted as he gave him a sympathetic smile. “Don’t bother asking. Not to sound all sappy, but because of Bev, there’s no room for heartburn. She owns my heart, and wouldn’t allow it.” He started toward Boysen, then stopped. “A good woman could cure what ails you,” he said over his shoulder. “And when you find that woman, no matter the odds, the end result is well worth it.”
“What’s that?” he asked without thinking, a rarity for him, and he could have kicked himself in the ass. He’d opened himself up too much, left himself too vulnerable. To Roy...to Celeste.
A slow smile spread across the sheriff’s face. “A woman you’d die for, or die without. Take your pick.”
Before he had a chance to digest Roy’s words, his cell phone rang. “Kain,” he answered.
“It’s Celeste.” A woman you’d die for, or die without. “Are you okay?”
“It’s been a long day.” Just hearing her voice almost evaporated what he’d seen today. Almost.
“Bad?”
“Yeah, bad.”
“John,” she said with sympathy, as a gruff, male voice shouted in the background. “I’m sorry, I’ve got to go. We’re in the middle of the dinner rush, but you’ve been on my mind. I wanted to check in and see if...if you wanted to stop by later.”
Hell yes. “Will’s still taking you home?”
“Right after things slow down, probably around seven or so. Having an assistant manager is a beautiful thing.”
He swore he felt her smile through the phone. “It’s nice to give up a little control, isn’t it?”
“Exhilarating.”
He wanted to share that exhilaration. Hell, he was starting to go beyond want to pure need. He’d tasted her this afternoon, felt every delicious inch of her body and it still wasn’t enough. He needed more, except... “I have a few things to take care of yet, and paperwork to do.” Rachel had sent him a text while he’d been in Winston’s jail cell, stating that she had a bunch of stuff waiting in his email inbox.
“Bring it with you. Maybe I can help. I’ll even hook you up with tonight’s dinner special. I’m sure you haven’t eaten all day.”
“I haven’t. But if it’s liver and onions...”
“Nope,” she chuckled. “Try chicken marsala, and I’ll even snag a piece of cheesecake for you.”
His stomach grumbled. “I’m game.”
“So I’ll see you around...”
“Seven or so.”
Dishes clanked in the background. “Gotta go. See you soon.”
As he slipped his cell phone back into his pocket, Roy walked toward him. “Finished with Boysen already?”
“Guy’s not a dumbass,” he said as he opened his car door. “He pr
etty much had most of the story figured out. I just filled in a few, very selective details.” He looked over his shoulder. “Where to?”
“First Hoyt’s, then Sundahl’s, then a check on Winston.”
With his shoulders slumped, Roy climbed into his cruiser. “After that, I’m going home to Bev.”
As the sheriff shut his car door and started the ignition, John sighed and did the same. While anxious for any information that might help lead them to the second killer, he couldn’t help the punch of disappointment. It would be hours before he saw Celeste.
He needed to see Celeste.
A woman you’d die for, or die without.
Chapter 15
CELESTE SHOVED THE dusty box from the guest bedroom closet across the hardwood floor. Kneeling on the area rug, she traced the letters she’d printed on the side of the box three years ago.
Mom.
Overwhelming sorrow squeezed her heart. She missed seeing her mother’s face. She missed hearing her voice, her laughter.
“What are you doing?”
She jumped. “Will, you scared the crap out me.”
“Sorry.” He leaned against the door jamb. “I was just in the basement figuring you’d be baking.”
She should be in the basement kitchen or experimenting with her recipes, but she needed answers. “Not tonight. I’ll get up early tomorrow.”
He walked into the room, a frown lining his face. “What’s in the box?”
“Some of mom’s things she’d saved over the years. Old high school yearbooks, pictures, cards...journals.”
“Does dad know about this stuff?” he asked, and touched the lid, but didn’t remove it.
“I’d told him about the box when I’d found it the day I’d cleaned out mom’s closet for him. He’d said to do whatever I wanted with it. I swear I’d mentioned it to both you and Eden.”
He winced. “Now that I think about it, you did. Why are you going through it now?”
“The trances. I was hoping mom had something in her journals that might help me understand why I’m having them or maybe even learn how to control them.”
“Why didn’t you read her journals before?”
“Why didn’t you?”
Sighing, he sat on the bed. “It hurt too much, it still does.”
“For me, too,” she whispered, and grabbed his hand. “Wanna help me go through them now?”
“I thought John was coming over.”
“He called and said he’d be late.”
“Oh.”
She caught his disappointment as he stared at the box, along with the grief that still lingered in all of them. “Go work in your studio. John will be here in about an hour. You don’t need to babysit me.”
“Celeste,” he started to protest.
“You’re thirty yards from the house. All of the windows and doors are locked. Nothing is going to happen to me. Actually, I think John and Roy are being way too overprotective.”
“Lloyd doesn’t think so.”
She rolled her eyes. “He’s as bad as they are. Now either help me read through mom’s journals, or go to your studio. The gallery opening is coming up and I know you still have a few things to finish.”
“I do, but...”
She pulled her cell phone from her pocket. “I’ll call if I need you.”
“No, I’ll just wait downstairs.”
“And pace a hole in my rug? Uh-uh, go home.”
“Okay, but, um, considering this is the room I’m going to be sleeping in tonight, could you at least move the box back in the closet when you’re finished. I don’t want to look at it.”
Bleak sadness filled his eyes. Her throat clenched and she nodded. “I understand, but don’t worry. You might not need to sleep here anyway.”
“Why?” he asked, then he widened his eyes. “You and John are...” He shoved off the bed, a red blush creeping up his neck and staining his cheeks. “I don’t want to know.” He stopped and turned. “Actually I do. What are his intentions?”
“Intentions? Seriously, Will, you sound like dad. It’s not a big deal, just a sorta fling.”
“Seriously, Celeste, you sound like Eden,” he mocked. “And she’s had way too many sorta flings, where you...you...”
Her temper flared. First Roy, now her brother? “Where I live like a fricking spinster, collecting creepy gnomes and wasting my life in this small town.”
He frowned. “What the hell are you talking about? You’re not wasting your life here.”
“Bullshit. Eden’s in Chicago living the life she’d always wanted. She has a successful career, friends, flings. Dad’s down in Florida golfing, fishing, and according to Roy, has had more dates in the past six months than I’ve had in three years. And you.” She stood, and pointed a finger at him as a tear slipped down her cheek. “You’ll be gone soon, while I...”
He hugged her, awkwardly patting her back. Will was a great guy, but clumsy when it came to expressing emotions. Just like their dad and Eden. She knew this, knew how sensitive he could be, and regretted her outburst.
“I shouldn’t have blown up at you like that. I’m sorry. I’ve been stressed out lately,” she said, trying to soothe him. Will tended to brood. He’d likely go into his studio and dwell on everything she’d said, rather than work on his painting.
He stepped back and held her at arms length. “I can’t believe I didn’t see any of this before.”
“What do you mean?”
“I always thought you liked running the diner. Living here. Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you just tell dad?”
She pulled away, and leaned against the wall. “I couldn’t. He needed me to stay, so I stayed.”
He slumped on the bed and ran a hand through his hair. “When mom’s cancer became bad, Eden refused to move back to help, and I was totally useless. I couldn’t stand watching mom die, and I couldn’t stand watching dad deal with it. But you gave up your career, your dreams to come home to help. God, Celeste, I feel like such an ass because I don’t even know what those dreams are.”
She sat next to him, and nudged him with her shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. They weren’t all that great anyway.”
He nudged her back. “Tell me and I’ll decide.”
She thought about the stack of recipes she’d perfected over the years. “Not today.”
“Then will you at least promise me that you’ll talk to dad? He would never have asked you to take over the diner if he knew how much you hated it.”
“I don’t exactly hate it and I’ve made my choice with dad, just as I did with John, who’s going to be here in an hour. So go. I want to look through some of mom’s journals before he gets here.”
He moved for the door, then hesitated. “You’re a great person, and I, um...”
“Go,” she said, saving him from having to express himself any further. She knew he loved her, the words weren’t necessary. “And if I find out you’re worrying about me, rather than working, I’ll give you a noogie.”
“You haven’t been able to do that since I outgrew you.”
“Wanna test it?” she asked with a grin.
He acted as if he were considering it, then smiled. “Some other time. Call if you need me.”
After she heard the front door slam shut, she released a deep sigh. What happened between her and Will might come back and bite her on the ass. She knew he wouldn’t call Eden, but he might call their dad. She didn’t want her dad to know how she truly felt. It would break his heart.
She stared at the box.
He’d had his heart broken enough.
Pushing that thought aside, she lifted the lid off the box. The scent of her mom’s perfume, delicate, and slightly stale from age, whispered through the air. Tears stung her eyes. She fought them back, along with so many memories, and sifted through the box. She didn’t want to reminisce tonight. Reminiscing would lead to the grief she hadn’t dealt with, nor wanted to. After three years, her mother’s death wa
s still like an open wound that hadn’t healed yet.
When she found the journals, she placed them on the bed. There were only five. Five black and white composition notebooks held her mother’s thoughts, her secrets. She grabbed the oldest, then sat on the rug and began to read.
Forty minutes later, she closed the journal, her mind spinning. She hadn’t known her mother as well as she’d thought.
Before moving to Wissota Falls, her mom had lived in Baltimore. That hadn’t surprised her. Both her mom and dad were born and raised there, and still had plenty of family in the area. The big surprise? Her mom had worked as a psychic consultant, to both the local police and the FBI. Even more surprising, her mom had been in love with another man before she’d met her father.
Why hadn’t she told her about him? She’d joked about past boyfriends, but never mentioned this man. And why hadn’t she told her she’d used to be a psychic consultant? Better yet, why had she stopped?
She returned the box to the closet, then made her way to the kitchen for a much needed glass of wine. There was one person, other than her father, who might have the answers to her questions.
Roy.
She picked up the phone and called him. He answered on the first ring.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Got a sec?”
“Who’s watching out for you?”
“Will,” she lied, “And John will be here soon.”
“Good,” he said, and released a deep sigh. “After today...”
“I didn’t mean to worry you, and John filled me in on what happened. I’m sorry about Curtis.”
“Me too. So what’s up?”
Now this didn’t seem like a good time to bring up her mom, or her journals. Roy and John had been through enough, she didn’t need to dredge up the past. Her curiosity could wait until later.
“Nothing. Just checking in to see how you are.”
“Celeste, don’t bullshit a bullshitter.”
She smiled as she took a sip of her wine. “You know me too well. Okay, I was looking through my mom’s journals, hoping I’d find something in them to help with the trances I’ve been having.”
Dark Secrets: A Paranormal Romance Anthology Page 83