Reclaim My Life

by Cheryl Norman

  “This the woman you said resembled your murder victim?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “Those two look enough alike from a distance to fool me. Sounds like you have a killer interested in women with a certain look—”

  “Whoa! Kris Knight is missing, not murdered.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. You didn’t find Doc Hodges right away, did you?”

  “True, but let’s not borrow trouble.”

  “Hear me out. I’m just theorizing. Phyllis Gillespie’s not sitting here with a tape recorder.” His dad made a face at the mention of the editor’s name.

  “Okay, just for argument’s sake, what are you ‘theorizing’?”

  “Some guy’s wife divorced him, and he’s nutty. Or his girlfriend dumped him. Whatever. He hates her. She had long brown hair, was tall, slender, and pretty. So every woman who fits that description enrages him and he kills her. Or maybe his mother abused him and she fit that description—”

  “Dad, you’ve been watching too much truTV.”

  His dad tried to shrug, but with half his body paralyzed, he couldn’t pull it off. “You’ll admit these two women look alike.”

  “Yes, at least from a distance.”

  “Then consider that their resemblance is related to their disappearance.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind. I’ll let you know what the profiler has to say about it. She may agree with you.”

  “When you meeting with her?”

  “I hope tomorrow.”

  “I just hope you can find the killer before anyone else gets hurt.”

  “You and me, both.”

  Monday morning Wil arrived at the sheriff’s office earlier than usual. He wasn’t sure what time to expect Special Agent Buckner, but he didn’t want to keep her waiting. Preparing for his meeting with the profiler, he’d worked late yesterday putting together a folder with copies of all reports pertinent to his homicide case. Wanting to review the case one more time before her arrival, he slipped into his office via his private back door at a quarter to seven.

  A woman in her forties sat in his office across from his desk, her shoulder-length hair a mass of blond curls that nearly reached the shoulder pads of her suit jacket. Clear blue eyes rimmed by lashes thickly coated with mascara steadied their gaze on him. Lips heavy with blood-red lipstick curved into a friendly smile. The glamour treatment reminded him of Sunny Davis. Attractive, but a bit heavy handed.

  Standing, she extended her hand. “Sheriff Drake, I’m Special Agent Buckner, but please call me Ronda Lou.”

  Good grief, a morning person. So much for giving his case folder a final read before her arrival. She must have driven from Tallahassee before daybreak. He shook hands. “Call me Wil.”

  As if appraising him, she held onto his hand a beat longer than he thought protocol dictated, but he could’ve imagined the interest in her eyes. “Very well, Wil.”

  He started toward the interior door. “Let me see if we have fresh coffee brewed.”

  “I’d rather get right to business, if you don’t mind.”

  He did mind, but he’d manage a bit longer without his morning caffeine fix. “Sure.”

  She sat down again and nodded toward the reports fanned atop his desk. “I’ve studied the crime scene photos and the write-ups you have so far on the homicide. There’s not a lot of physical evidence, but that in itself is a clue.”

  She must have arrived in the middle of the night to cover all the material he’d prepared. “How so?”

  “From the post mortem we know the victim died from a gunshot wound to the temple, a twenty-two caliber short, solid lead bullet at close range.”

  “Right.”

  “There were no bruises or scratches indicating a struggle, which tells us the offender was someone the victim perceived as nonthreatening. It appears he had no trouble getting close enough to fire the shot point-blank.”

  “So she knew the killer?”

  “Possibly—”

  “Wait a minute. It’d be easy for the killer to shoot point-blank if Cathleen was asleep or unconscious.”

  “The toxicology report isn’t back yet. Of course, they’ll look for sedatives or narcotics. But there’s no head wound to indicate she was knocked unconscious. You found no evidence that her bed had been slept in, and she was still wearing her clothing. Furthermore, look at time of death. Her stomach contained undigested food from her dinner.”

  “Right. Also, according to her companions, she had nothing alcoholic to drink at dinner.”

  “What convinces me she knew her killer was that the offender moved the body, thus distancing himself from the scene of the crime or from where the victim was last seen.”

  “What about her ex-boyfriend, Michael Moore? She would’ve recognized him.”

  Ronda Lou shook her head before he’d finished his sentence. “Cathleen Hodges feared Michael Moore. I don’t see her willingly allowing him to get close enough to fire a weapon against her head.”

  Wil rubbed his chin, considering. “So you’d expect wounds indicating she’d put up a fight if Moore had approached her. But what about the fact that he ran before authorities could bring him in for questioning? The Arkansas State Police have an APB out.”

  “He’s not off the suspect list, of course. I’d be interested in hearing his alibi for the time of death, too.”

  “Running away is suspicious behavior if he’s innocent.”

  “Moore may or may not have killed the victim, but he isn’t innocent. If he’s heard of her death, he knows he’s a suspect because he has a known history of violence against her.”

  “But you don’t think it’s him?”

  She tapped the case file pages with one long fingernail. “He’s not fitting the profile I see emerging from the case file. An organized killer—or an incredibly lucky first-time offender—did this crime.”

  Wil shook his head in confusion. “In the little evidence we have, what makes you say that?”

  “We know from the ME that the victim didn’t die in the water, but we also know nothing found on the body will lead us to the offender. Bodies submerged in water decompose at a faster rate in this climate, which tells me the offender has forensic knowledge and hopes to conceal his crime as much as possible.”

  Wil nodded, remembering his father’s words: So we’re dealing with a killer who kept his head. “And when we found the victim’s minivan, it had been wiped clean of prints. Bottom line, we can dismiss the scenario of a stranger passing through.”

  “Absolutely. I don’t think this was a random killing. This woman was targeted.”

  “Which brings us back to her ex. Could he have hired a hit man?”

  “A hit man that the victim trusted enough to allow next to her with a twenty-two? I don’t think so.”

  Wil nodded. No wonder truTV wanted Ronda Lou Buckner for a program. “So we need to look at someone she knew and was comfortable with—”

  “Or an acquaintance she’d have no reason to fear.”

  “Then her murderer is still here and among us.”

  “Yes,” she said with a single nod. “I’m afraid someone living in your community is a cold-blooded killer.”

  “Damn.” He cringed at his response, but this was his county. One of his citizens had murdered another.

  Ronda Lou flashed him a sympathetic smile. “Is this your first homicide?”

  “First as sheriff. I worked many years as a detective in Jacksonville.”

  “Ah. So you’re no stranger to violent crimes.” She shifted the papers on his desk and picked up a report. “I’ve read your interviews. It concerns me that the victim’s three best friends didn’t seem to know her that well.”

  Her tone said she thought they knew far more than they’d said. “I think each is busy with her own career, so their dinner nights out were the extent of their friendship. All had moved here about the same time.”

  “And now a second of this foursome is missing?”

  He’d included th
e missing person report on Kris Knight in case the profiler considered it connected to the homicide. “Looks that way.”

  “I’d be interested in speaking with the other two women.”

  “I can arrange that.” He’d welcome any excuse to contact Elizabeth, especially since it didn’t seem likely he’d get to the diner in time to see her at breakfast. “Both work at the college. Want me to drive you over to the campus?”

  “That’d be great. I’ve already had a two-hour drive this morning.”

  “How long will you be staying in Drake Springs?”

  “A couple days at least. I’ve booked a room over in Jasper, near the interstate.”

  “That’s good. I’m afraid our only motel closed in 1981.” He chuckled. “It’s now a strip of businesses including a florist, barber shop, and dry cleaners.”

  She nodded. “It’s all right. Jasper’s not that far.”

  “We’d probably have a better shot at catching both women around lunchtime.”

  “In that case, could you direct me to a good place to eat? I skipped breakfast this morning. I’m famished.”

  “I’ll do even better. I’ll take you myself. I could use a cup of coffee, and our downtown diner serves the best.”

  Her smile broadened. “It’s a date, Wil.”

  Sitting at a table in Boyd’s Diner, Elizabeth dunked her teabag, watching the brew darken. The Weather Channel droned on in the background with its tropical update. Apparently the meteorologists had their eye on a hurricane, but it had to be headed elsewhere. The brilliant sunshine and azure sky looked as perfect and nonthreatening as usual in Drake Springs. Just another day in paradise.

  Lorraine hovered at her elbow. “Ready to order, sugar?”

  “Not yet.” She had no appetite but needed to keep up her weight, now more than ever. In truth, she stalled, hoping Wilson would show. Not that they had a standing date for breakfast, but he’d yet to miss a morning meeting her. “I think I’ll wait till the caffeine kicks in.”

  “Gotcha.” Lorraine moved to one of the booths where new arrivals waited to order.

  The door opened, bringing with it a gust of wind that rustled the napkin on Elizabeth’s lap. Rescuing the napkin, she glanced at the door and then did a double take. Averting her gaze, she swallowed her disappointment. No, the emotions roiling inside her went beyond mere disappointment. Hurt?

  Wilson Drake, dressed in suit and tie instead of his usual uniform, escorted a knockout blonde into the diner and to the booth farthest from the door. He slid in the booth across from her, his gaze sweeping the room as it always did. One thing she’d learned about the easygoing sheriff was that he was ever alert to his surroundings. His gaze paused on hers, and he smiled. What choice did she have but acknowledge? She gave him a finger wave then looked down as if reading tea leaves instead of brewing them.

  Seeing Wilson with another breakfast companion upset her far more than it should have. If Elizabeth needed a reminder of her foolishness, she had one now. Wilson was a flirt; she accepted that. Her pain rose from facing the brutal truth that she’d ignored her own warnings. She’d allowed herself to fall for a man she couldn’t confide in or trust, at least as long as she was in WitSec. She hadn’t so much as kissed the guy but already felt a connection. She’d thought he felt it, too.

  Lorraine returned with her order pad, but Elizabeth shook her head. “I’ll just have tea this morning, Lorraine.” No way in hell she could swallow a bite of food now.

  After cooling her tea with an ice cube from her water, she drained her mug in a few gulps. She avoided looking at the couple in the booth, although a surreptitious peek at the woman gave her the impression she was a law enforcement colleague. Elizabeth didn’t recognize her as one of Wilson’s deputies, though. If Wilson preferred breakfasting with the blonde, Elizabeth couldn’t fault his taste. Still, no amount of self-talk suppressed the barbs of jealousy eating away at her gut.

  Gathering her composure, she forced rubbery legs to walk to the cash register so she could settle her bill. As she waited for her change, she caught a whiff of a familiar woodsy cologne. Wilson stepped in front of her, forcing her to meet his gaze.

  “Good morning, darlin’.” Up close, she saw the gold star pinned to his lapel, a miniature sheriff’s badge. He looked too damn good in a suit.

  “Good morning.” Amazed at how calm her voice sounded when her insides trembled, she forced a smile.

  “Before you rush off, I’d like to introduce you to someone.”

  “Sure.” She took her change from Lorraine, who blatantly watched the exchange between the two. Elizabeth couldn’t have the world and Boyd’s Diner see her acting like a woman scorned. She forced both her shoulders and her smile to relax.

  Wilson cradled her elbow, leading her to the booth. “Elizabeth Stevens, this is Special Agent Ronda Lou Buckner. She’s with Florida Department of Law Enforcement.”

  The glamorous blonde extended her hand to shake Elizabeth’s. She had a beautiful French manicure, and probably a pedicure to match. “Nice to meet you, Miss Stevens.”

  “Likewise.” Up close, Elizabeth detected a few crow’s feet at the corners of the woman’s eyes, along with a permanent frown wrinkle between her perfectly tweezed eyebrows. Definitely older than Wilson—but what she lacked in youth, she made up for in looks. She reminded Elizabeth of Sunny, though Sunny was younger and more petite. Both women were blondes who knew how to use makeup to their advantage.

  Elizabeth knew how to use makeup to her advantage, too, but didn’t own so much as a tube of mascara. Her drab, unnoticeable appearance distressed her now more than ever. She had to remind herself how her dowdy appearance kept her safe and off the radar for anyone hunting a tall, slender thirty-six-year-old woman with brown eyes and a long, brunette braid.

  Like Kris? No! She pushed aside her fears about her missing friend and focused on Wilson’s words.

  “Ronda Lou would like to talk with you about the case. What time works best for your class schedule today?”

  Ronda Lou sounded far too intimate when addressing a law enforcement colleague, but Wilson was a friendly guy. She reined in her jealousy and directed her smile at Special Agent Buckner. She refused to think of her as Ronda Lou. “I can meet with you between two thirty and four. At four, I need to be at the theater with the drama students.”

  “Two thirty is fine. Where’s a good place to talk privately?”

  “My office.” Just to be mischievous, Elizabeth laid a possessive hand on Wilson’s bicep—his impressive bicep—and smiled. “Wilson can show you where it is.”

  He looked first at her hand on his arm then directly into her eyes. And winked. “I’m sure I can.” But he didn’t add darlin’.

  With as much dignity as she could muster, she excused herself and fled Boyd’s Diner.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  At lunchtime, Sunny waited for Elizabeth at the quadrangle, the park-like plaza in the center of campus that had the requisite statues and stone benches. For the first time in months, the temperature hadn’t climbed to the nineties. The light breeze carried no hint of rain, but at least it stirred the muggy air.

  Sunny jumped from the wall surrounding the fountain, which had been turned off to conserve water, and waved. “Hey, Liz.”

  Her bubbly smile temporarily chased away Elizabeth’s sadness. A black cloud of gloom had positioned itself over her shoulder, where it had hovered all morning, a constant reminder of her missing friend. She gave Sunny a tight hug. “How was the trip, girl?”

  “All right. Let’s just say a little bit of Mother goes a long way.” Sunny fluttered her hand as if to brush away the subject. “Where do you want to eat lunch?”

  Elizabeth didn’t want to eat anywhere but couldn’t afford to lose weight. “Dairy Queen.”

  Sunny laughed. “That’s what I love about you—you don’t fuss about diet this and diet that, like Kris—”

  “Kris is missing.” Elizabeth stopped suddenly, and Sunny had to backtrack.
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  “What?”

  “Same as Cathleen. We’d made plans, I went to pick her up—she and her car both gone. No one’s seen her since Saturday afternoon. She didn’t show up for school today, either. I checked.”

  Sunny, whose disposition usually matched her name, frowned. “What in the hell is going on around here?”

  “Wilson said we should be careful and travel in numbers, keep our doors locked … that sort of thing.”

  “Wilson?” A slow smile curved her lips. “Would this be the sheriff you feared I’d fixed you up with?”

  They walked again, reaching Osceola Street, where they headed toward the Dairy Queen on Second. “The same sheriff you said is so not my type.”

  Sunny laughed. “Apparently, I was wrong. So, spill. What did I miss while I was gone?”

  Elizabeth told her about inviting Wilson to join her and Kris for pizza. She chose not to mention Saturday night’s date that didn’t happen or the emergency with Wilson’s dog.

  “Are you two still doing the breakfast at the diner thing?” They turned on Second and reached Dairy Queen. Sunny held the door for her.

  “Sometimes.” She didn’t want to admit her disappointment that he’d had breakfast with Ronda Lou. “This morning, he was with a state profiler—who, by the way, wants to interview us today.”

  “Oh, her. She’s already been into the bookstore to schedule me. I’m meeting her at four.” Sunny dropped the subject to order her food.

  Elizabeth didn’t plan to bring up the subject of Ronda Lou Buckner again. Maybe the woman was good at her job, but she seemed too interested in Wilson. Not that Elizabeth was jealous. Yeah, right.

  After picking up her shake and fries, which was all she figured her stomach could handle, Elizabeth joined Sunny at a hard plastic table for two. In between bites, she asked about Ian.

  “Ian’s Ian. You know.” She shrugged. What had happened to the gooey-eyed sigh that usually followed his name when Sunny spoke it?

  “Uh-oh. Is the honeymoon over?” she teased.