“Consider it told.” Bonnie stabbed at her salad and asked, “So, can you tell me what the hell is going on down there in Southern Bumfuck, for Christ’s sake? It seems as if every time I turn on the news, there’s another body being dug up.”
“There have been four at last count. And I’ll be damned if I know where they came from. It’s pretty horrific. Those remains have been there for years.”
“Well, it’s a farm, right? How come the tractors didn’t plow them up before this?”
“Until that parcel of land was sold off to a developer, it was all wooded. So it was never plowed. It’s only been recently, when they took out the trees to start building the houses, that the graves were discovered.”
“God, that is creepy.” Bonnie shook her blond head. “How are you making out with your plans to sell it?”
“I’m not.”
“You’re not selling?”
“I’m not making out well right now, but yes, I’m still planning on selling. Things have been so hectic this week. Plus, there are other factors involved right now.”
“Like what?”
“Like the police-and as of yesterday, the FBI-are investigating multiple murders and could probably block the sale of the property while the investigation is ongoing. I know they’re still looking for other graves. And like the fact that we’re not likely to get as good a price for it at the moment, since there’s so much notoriety attached to the farm. I’m afraid if we put it on the market right now, we’ll attract the curious and the morbid, but no serious buyers.” Lorna leaned back to permit the waitress to serve her entrée.
“You really think real estate developers care about that sort of thing?” Bonnie snorted.
“We-my sister and I-were hoping to not have to sell to a developer. We’d hate to see the family home be demolished and replaced with a row of town houses.”
“Maybe you should put it on the market and see what happens. You never know who might be interested. Though I suppose there are fewer and fewer people going into farming today.”
“True enough, though you’d be amazed at how many working farms there are in the area.”
“A good thing.” Bonnie speared a piece of yellow summer squash with her fork and held it up. “Someone has to feed us. I for one am happy someone is still in the business of raising veggies.”
“You, being a vegetarian, would be in heaven in Callen. You can go right to the farms and buy whatever is in that week. There are also several dairy farms, a few that raise organic meats, and, of course, the mushroom farms. And the vineyards. There are at least half a dozen within twenty miles of our farm.”
“It all sounds so… rural.”
Lorna laughed.
“So tell me what the police and the FBI are doing to find this killer who’s on the loose.”
“For one thing, no one knows if the killer is still in the area. There haven’t been any recent victims found-at least none that we know of. They’re still trying to identify the victims found this past week. Mitch-Mitch Peyton, he’s the FBI agent assigned to the case-is working on that.” Lorna paused, then asked, “Did I tell you I hired a private investigator to help determine if Billie Eagan killed her son?”
Bonnie placed her fork on the side of her plate, then looked up. “Why, no, you hadn’t mentioned that. How do you know Billie Eagan? And where did you find a private investigator?”
Lorna related the entire story. When she concluded, Bonnie shook her head and said, “And here I thought you were languishing down there in Nowheresville, and instead, you’re cavorting with possible murderers, FBI agents, an internationally known true crime writer, and a private eye.”
Bonnie paused, then asked, “Is he cute?”
“Is who cute?”
“The PI.”
“Very. Tall, blond, built. Drives a little sports car.”
“You’re making this up.”
Lorna laughed. “No, actually, I’m not.”
“Well, I suppose we might as well party tonight, because with all that going on in Bumfuck, I don’t see you hurrying to move back to Woodboro anytime soon.”
“I’ll be back. I just need to resolve a few things.”
“A few things like multiple murders and the sale of a very large property.” Bonnie shook her head. “Girl, we won’t be seeing you for another six months. Fortunately, you can take your business with you. All the joys of self-employment, and all the excitement of a juicy murder investigation and a hunky PI. Some girls have all the luck.”
“Hey, you’re welcome to come on out and join in the fun.”
“Well, if the case against Billie Eagan starts moving into dangerous waters, and you need a top-notch criminal defense lawyer, you know where to find me.” Bonnie tapped Lorna on the arm. “Scout around for another hunky PI and we’ll talk reduced fee.”
“Oh, right. I forgot how much trouble you have finding male companionship,” Lorna deadpanned. Bonnie’s great looks and personality, combined with her success, ensured she never had to be alone on a Saturday night unless she chose to be.
“There are lots of men around, but no one all that interesting. Most nights I’d rather be working.” She resumed eating. “At least with a criminal case, you can be assured that some of the reading will be good. As a matter of fact, a few of the statements I’ve read lately rival some of the best fiction on the market.”
“You need a vacation, Bonnie.”
“I just had a vacation.”
“You need another one,” Lorna told her. “Why not come for a visit sometime soon. Stay Friday through Sunday.”
“You’re planning on staying there, aren’t you?” Bonnie asked over the rim of her glass.
“For a while.”
“I bet you don’t come back.”
“I’ll be back. I just have to take care of some business there. It might take awhile, but I’ll be back.”
Bonnie took a twenty-dollar bill from her wallet and laid it on the table.
“Twenty says you stay in Bumfuck.”
Lorna matched the bill.
“My twenty says you’re wrong.”
Bonnie grinned. “You know, I never bet on anything less than a sure thing, Ms. Stiles. I say a year from now, we’ll be sending your mail to the farm.”
“The only way I see that happening is if they’re still digging up bodies. And if that’s the case, you can pretty much bank that twenty, because I’ll never be able to sell the place.”
“Maybe not such a bad idea, if you get to keep the PI.”
“Ha. Fat chance.” Lorna shook her head. “I don’t think I’m his type.”
“What do you think is his type?”
“The hot convertible sports car type,” Lorna told her. “Like you. You’re more his type. Sophisticated. Accomplished. Gorgeous.”
“Oh, please. Sophistication is a state of mind, and who needs it, really? And may I remind you which of us started a successful business on her own? How much more accomplished do you need to be?” Bonnie waved off Lorna’s attempt at protest. “And as far as looks are concerned, well, let’s put it this way: Jack always brags he’s never dated less than a ‘ten.’ What’s that tell you?”
“It tells me that my taste in men had dropped to a disturbing all-time low two years ago.” Lorna grimaced. “It also tells me I’m better off concentrating on work than on my social life, if that’s the best Woodboro has to offer.”
“Well, you can work wherever you are, and right now, the farm seems like the place to be. Frankly, I don’t know about you, but I always wanted to be Nancy Drew. You know, solve the mystery. Catch the bad guy. Adventure. Intrigue.” Bonnie sighed. “If I were you, I’d be in no hurry to come back here and leave that all behind.”
“I did want to be Nancy Drew,” Lorna admitted.
“Well, here’s your chance, if only for a little while. Besides, you never know what other secrets are still hidden on that farm of yours.”
15
“Is this powwow invitation only, or
can anyone sit in?” Lorna asked from the doorway of her dining room. Mitch, Regan, and T.J. were seated around the table, obviously in the midst of a discussion.
“Hey, it’s your table.” Mitch waved her in.
T.J. pulled out the chair next to his, and she draped the strap of her shoulder bag over it.
“Sorry I didn’t make it back last night,” Lorna said to Regan. “I had dinner with a friend, and by the time we were finished…”
“No apology necessary. I told you when you called that I didn’t mind, and I thought you should stay there. A five-hour drive after a night out would have been too much. And besides,” Regan smiled, “you needed a night out to have fun. Things have been too intense around here practically since the day you arrived. I didn’t mind staying here by myself. And I wasn’t really alone, you know.”
Lorna glanced sideways at Mitch, wondering if perhaps he’d kept Regan company while Lorna was in Woodboro. It was obvious there was something between them.
Regan caught the quick glimpse and sidestepped it. “Your Uncle Will.”
“I hope he behaved himself.”
“He was a perfect gentleman,” Regan assured her.
“Uncle Will is the ghost?” T.J. looked from one woman to the other.
Lorna nodded. “Right.”
“And you saw him?” he asked Regan.
She shook her head. “No. I only heard him.”
“What did you hear? What did it sound like?” Mitch asked.
“It sounded like someone was pounding first on the wall, then the window, in the back bedroom.”
“Are you sure someone wasn’t pounding on the windows?” Mitch rose, alarmed. “Jesus, Regan, they’ve been digging up bodies right and left around here. And you hear someone pounding at night and you think it’s a ghost? You think this is Great Adventure?”
“I know when someone is trying to break in, Mitch.” Regan’s eyes narrowed. “I can tell the difference.”
“Let’s go take a look.” Mitch pushed back his chair. “Which bedroom is it?”
“The last one at the end of the hall on the right,” Lorna told him, amused.
“You coming, PI?” Mitch called over his shoulder to T.J.
“Sure. Why not?” T.J. followed him out the door and up the steps.
“I don’t believe in ghosts, Regan,” Mitch called down from the second floor, his footsteps echoing overhead.
“You haven’t met my uncle Will,” Lorna called back.
There was the sound of a window banging closed several times. A few minutes later, the two men returned.
“There’s no sign of the window being jimmied, and the lock seems real secure,” Mitch told them. He turned to Regan and added, “Maybe you were dreaming.”
“Maybe you ought to sleep in Uncle Will’s room one night,” she smiled sweetly, “and we’ll see who’s dreaming.”
He smiled in return. “Anytime.”
“Okay, so we’ve established that Mitch is a nonbeliever and Regan and Lorna believe. Truthfully, I’m still on the fence,” T.J. announced. “Let’s move on, shall we?”
“Where were we?” Regan shuffled the notebook pages that lay on the table in front of her.
“We were talking about the responses we’ve gotten to our request for information on missing persons-specifically young men-over the past thirty years,” Mitch said.
“From this area?” Lorna asked.
“Right. Southern New Jersey, the entire state of Delaware because it’s small, northeastern Maryland, and southeastern Pennsylvania, from Harrisburg to Philadelphia, including the southernmost area from Lancaster straight on over to the Delaware River.” Mitch held up a sheet of paper. “Guess how many responses so far?”
“I have no idea.” Lorna shook her head. “Three?”
“Nine.”
“Nine!” she exclaimed.
“Which tells me what the police have found is only the tip of the iceberg.”
“But they wouldn’t necessarily all be buried on my property, right?”
“Not necessarily, but I think there’s a damned good chance there may be more out there. He’d have felt confident here, he’d met with success here. He’d never been discovered here.” Mitch turned to T.J. “Which in itself should tell us something about him, right?”
“It tells me he’s probably local. Probably grew up here, may still be living here.”
“Why would he still be here?” Lorna asked. “Wouldn’t he be afraid that the remains would be found and he’d be caught?”
“No one’s come close to catching him. For twenty-five years, no one even caught on that the crimes were committed. He’s obviously in his comfort zone. He’s killed here, he’s buried his prey here, and he’s gotten away with it for a very long time. And as Mitch just pointed out, he feels secure here. I don’t see him having ever left. It probably gives him great comfort to have his kills close by.”
“Well, if we assume you’re right, and he’s still living around here, what do you suppose he’s thinking now?” Lorna asked.
“That’s absolutely the question to be asking.” T.J. turned to her. “And it’s the one question no one else has asked.”
Lorna felt her cheeks tinge pink. Nancy Drew, indeed.
“I think if he hasn’t already begun to panic over the last few days, he’s going to start very soon. I think he was okay when Jason’s body was found. Okay, maybe a little tense, watch and wait, but in the end, the police blamed Billie for that. So I doubt he had much of a reaction other than maybe to feel the loss, that something has been taken from him. But it wouldn’t really have affected him, I don’t think, because he knew there were others, and he probably thought they were safe.”
“But then the others were found,” Regan pointed out. “Maybe not all of them, as Mitch noted, but enough to turn the national spotlight on the farm.”
T.J. nodded. “Right. I think every day this week, things have gotten more and more tense for him. We don’t know how many bodies were buried here, so we don’t know if he’s anticipating more discoveries-hoping, I’m certain, that no more are found. He’s already upset, I believe, that four have been taken from him. He wants them here, nearby, needs to know they’re there, under the ground, right where he left them. It has to be a torment for him to watch them exposed and removed.”
“So what do you think he’s going to do?” Lorna asked.
“I think he’s going to be looking for replacements,” T.J. told her.
The four fell silent for a moment, then Lorna asked, “So unless you find him, he’ll start killing again?”
“If he’s ever stopped-and we don’t know for certain that he has-yes, I expect him to look for victims here. Remember that he could well have been killing elsewhere, but I think he needs to keep his victims close to him.”
“That would involve a lot of travel on his part, though, wouldn’t it? As large an area you’ve already canvassed for victims, and found nine, wouldn’t he go beyond that to find future victims?” Regan asked.
“Possibly. Of course, there’s always the chance that he stopped. The last victim we identified was reported missing in 1995.”
“Ten years ago.” Lorna looked pensive. “That means he was actively killing and burying his victims here for at least fifteen years.”
“Fifteen years that we know of. As I said earlier, don’t be surprised if there are still some surprises out there,” Mitch told her.
“God, I hope not.” Lorna shivered. “I’ve had enough surprises for one week.”
“So, what’s our game plan for today?” Regan stacked her notes neatly in front of her.
“Our game plan?” Mitch raised an eyebrow.
“Surely you don’t expect to exclude me.”
“Surely you don’t expect to tag along while I visit with the families of some of the victims.”
“The Bureau permitted me access to interviews on previous cases, as a consultant,” Regan reminded him.
“You had alre
ady shared information from your father’s files on a similar case,” he countered, “and you were permitted to accompany me to look over police files to see if you could spot similarities.”
“Well, you don’t know that I might not have some insights into this one as well.”
“I don’t know how welcome a civilian is going to be to a family whose long-missing son has just been identified.”
“How ’bout we let John decide?” Regan smiled. John had been a big fan of her father’s true crime series, and had authorized her involvement in cases in the past. She opened her bag and took out her cell phone. “That number again, Agent Peyton?”
Mitch recited the number and she dialed it, then got up and walked to the window.
“What’s on your agenda for today?” Mitch asked T.J.
“I’m going to meet Danielle Porter at three,” T.J. replied.
Lorna stood and collected the empty coffee cups.
“I was wondering if you’d come along, Lorna,” he said. “I think you could be helpful, maybe get her to talk a little more than she might to a stranger.”
“I’m pretty much a stranger, too, remember.”
“Yes, but you’re a local. And a woman. She might feel a little more comfortable talking to you.”
“Where is she living now” Lorna called from the kitchen, where she was rinsing the cups.
“She gave me the address, let me get it.” T.J. went through his briefcase and located the slip of paper on which he’d written the number and address. He took it into the kitchen to show Lorna.
“Hmm, 724 Old Anderson Road.” Lorna nodded. “That’s off State Road, about two, three miles past Callen. There’s no town there, per se, just a bunch of farms. I know the area. It should only take us about ten minutes to get there.”
She looked at the kitchen clock, the face of which was set into the body of a black cat, a relic from her grandmother’s day that Mary Beth had loved. It was just a little after one-thirty.
“Well, then, it looks as if we all have our work planned for us this afternoon.” Mitch stood in the doorway. “Regan’s been given the green light to come along with me-as a consultant,” he emphasized, apparently for Regan’s benefit. “And since we have appointments with three families today, I think we need to get going.”
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