by Rita Herron
“Damn you, Sheriff, it’s not enough.” Mr. Kane raised a fist and shook it in the air. “Tell us who kidnapped our daughters, and I’ll get him to talk.”
Justin rapped his knuckles on the desk. “Listen here, everyone. We understand you’re upset, but the sheriff is doing her job. We do have a suspect and are continuing to question her—”
“It’s a woman?” Mrs. Faust shrieked.
“Let us see her!” Mr. Kane shouted.
“I can’t do that,” Justin said, kicking himself for mentioning the suspect’s gender. “But I promise you as soon as we know anything, we’ll inform you.”
“But our babies are still out there...” Mrs. Faust sobbed.
Mrs. Kane leaned into her husband. “We have to know what happened to them. Julie, she was so bright and smart... She can’t be gone.”
Their grief ripped at Amanda’s heart, and she silently vowed that somehow she would find the answers the families sought.
Even if it meant finding Julie’s and Lynn’s bodies so they could bury them and put them to rest.
* * *
BY THE TIME Justin managed to coax the families to leave, he knew Amanda was wrung out. He saw the guilt and pain in her eyes, and felt helpless to do anything about it.
Because he wasn’t sure they had the right unsub.
Meaning Amanda might be in danger and wouldn’t be safe until the perp was caught.
He suspected tomorrow as the big day, the reveal—if the killer had one. That Julie’s and Lynn’s bodies would turn up in some way connected to the reunion so all their classmates could bear witness.
And so Amanda would feel even worse.
The CSI team had found little. Nothing to connect Bernie to the crimes. Her cell phone showed calls to the inn and motel, but not to Julie, Lynn, Kelly or Suzy. If she’d used a burner phone, it hadn’t been in her purse or car.
Together he and Amanda made rounds in the town, checked the inn again to see if there had been any word from the women, then picked up some dinner from the diner and drove back to Amanda’s.
Tension vibrated between them, the uncertainty hovering around Bernie and the case needling both of them. Once they ate, Amanda poured herself a drink and offered him one.
He liked a woman who drank brown whiskey.
He liked Amanda period. She was strong and gutsy and fought for her town.
Worn and worried though, she looked vulnerable again. He sipped his whiskey with her on the porch, the night sounds echoing around them.
The memories of the night before taunted him.
He wanted her again.
Amanda sighed and leaned against the rail, looking out over the woods and canyon, and he couldn’t help himself. He stepped up behind her, needing to hold her, aching to pull her into his arms and touch her everywhere.
To make her sigh and moan with pleasure and erase the dark shadows in her eyes.
He gently stroked the hair from her cheek and pressed a kiss behind her ear. Amanda leaned back into him and whispered his name softly, a protest to stop. A plea for more.
He took her hand and led her inside, then swept her in his arms and carried her to the bedroom, where they stripped and made love all through the night.
* * *
FOR A FEW blissful short hours, Amanda felt at peace. Safe. Cared for. As if everything might be all right.
But daylight brought reality and uncertainty. When the case ended, Justin would leave Sunset Mesa. His job carried him all over Texas. She understood that from her father.
She also understood that he might not come back.
Daylight also reminded her that Julie and Lynn were still missing. And that Bernadette might not be the killer.
Justin joined her in the kitchen for coffee and breakfast again, the two of them silently agreeing not to discuss the frantic sex they’d had during the night.
“Let’s question Bernie again,” she said as they cleaned up the kitchen.
Justin nodded, and they drove to the hospital, the tension between them vibrating with dread. The reunion dance was tonight.
The tick tock of the clock was like a time bomb echoing in her ears.
If Bernadette wasn’t the suspect, then they could expect trouble tonight. The killer probably had something big planned for today. Plans that didn’t involve celebrating the good times from years past, but adding to the death count and celebrating her revenge.
Amanda led the way to the psych floor and they identified themselves to the head nurse, who escorted them to Bernie’s room. Bernie was sleeping, her face pale beneath the hospital lights.
Amanda shook her gently. “Bernie, I need you to wake up and talk to us.”
Bernie made a low sound in her throat, then slowly opened her eyes. Gone was the wild, panicked, angry look. Her eyes looked flat, empty, as if she was far away.
“Bernie, it’s Sheriff Blair. Amanda,” she said, hoping to connect with her on a more informal basis. “We need to talk.”
Bernie pushed hair from her face and looked around, disoriented. “Where am I?”
“The hospital in Sunset Mesa,” Amanda said. “Yesterday you told us that you killed Suzy Turner and Kelly Lambert. That you’ve been punishing classmates who were mean to you.”
Her eyes darted back and forth. “I didn’t say that. You’re lying.”
“You told me they all deserved to die,” Justin said. “That you choked them.”
“No,” Bernie bellowed. “I didn’t. You’re making up stuff to have me locked up again.”
“That’s not true,” Amanda said. “You were at the inn. You—”
“I didn’t do anything wrong!” Bernadette yelled. “I didn’t kill anyone.”
The hospital door suddenly opened, and a barrel-chested doctor rushed in. “What’s going on?”
“They’re saying I killed someone!” Bernie shouted. “They want to lock me up. It’s just like before, everyone turned against me.”
The doctor gestured for Amanda and Justin to step outside, and a nurse rushed in and gave Bernadette a sedative to calm her.
“I’m afraid she needs intensive therapy,” the doctor said.
“But yesterday she ranted about killing several women,” Justin said.
“Bernadette has taken heavy medication for years. She suffers from delusions. When she’s off her meds as she was yesterday and probably has been for days, she doesn’t know what she’s saying.”
“She was in a delusional state when we brought her in?” Amanda asked.
He nodded grimly. “Off her meds, she’s susceptible to suggestions from others. If you’d told her she was a green alien, she probably would have agreed.”
Amanda knotted her hands into fists. “So we can’t believe anything she said yesterday? And even if we did, it would never hold up in court.”
A sliver of unease rippled through her. She and Justin had both doubted whether or not Bernie’s confession had been real.
Now she had even more doubts.
Which meant that the killer might still be out there planning to snatch another victim.
* * *
SHE WATCHED THE group decorating the float, laughing and talking and reminiscing about the fun times they’d had.
High school was supposed to be the time of your life.
But for some it had been torture.
They added strings of crepe paper and made a papier-mâché school mascot, even fashioned the canyon for which the school had been named out of clay and paper.
One of the women laughed as she placed two dolls in cheerleading uniforms on the float while a young man planted a football in the middle of the football field onstage.
Tonight that float would sit outside the dance for everyone from Canyon High to see. It was tempting to leave Julie and Lynn in place of those stupid dolls.
But she had another plan. The big finale.
Then Amanda Blair had to die.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Tension knotted Justin’s
muscles as he waited on Amanda to dress for the dance. He had changed into clean jeans and a blue Western shirt, but he strapped on his gun and covered it with his jacket.
When Amanda stepped from the bedroom, she looked so stunning she robbed his breath. In deference to the occasion, she wore a short black dress that hugged her curves and made her look more like a sex siren than the sheriff.
She rubbed her hands down her hips in a self-conscious gesture. “Too much? I’ll go change.” She turned to go back into the bedroom.
He caught her arm. “No, you look beautiful.”
“I don’t care about that,” she said. “I have a job to do.”
He chuckled. “Perhaps you’ll look less intimidating dressed up for the reunion. Your uniform might spook the killer if she’s there.”
“The killer will be there,” Amanda said with conviction.
He silently agreed and walked her out to his SUV. “I’ll drive tonight.”
“Maybe my car should be there. It might make the other guests feel more secure.”
“You’ll be there,” Justin said. “And so will I. We’ll stay on our toes.”
Except at the moment, all he wanted to do was strip that slip of a dress and make love to her again.
God, he was like a sinking ship. He not only liked and admired Amanda—and she was the best sex he’d ever had—but he wanted to protect her tonight. Lock her here where she’d be safe, off the killer’s radar.
But he couldn’t even suggest that. Amanda wouldn’t go for it, and it would be unprofessional of him.
He squeezed her hand as they settled in the SUV. “Amanda, you know the killer left that photo of you on your door as a warning.”
She lifted her chin. “I know. The unsub wants to punish me, too.”
“That means you’re in danger,” he said in a hoarse voice. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
She lifted the hem of her dress and he saw the gun strapped to her thigh. It was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.
“I’m a pro,” she said. “Don’t worry about me.”
But he did worry about her, and that scared him. Caring might make him sloppy and distracted.
He couldn’t afford that. Not tonight.
* * *
THE CRIME SCENE techs had released the event center in time for the dance, but the committee had decided to move the party to another venue, a hotel ten miles north with a ballroom. Lynn’s mother had recommended the place, saying she couldn’t have a party at the center where Suzy’s body had been found, especially not when her own daughter was missing.
Volunteers from the school committee had scurried to decorate the place and make the arrangements. The float classmates had created was parked in front, a testament to the class that they were honoring the past and refused to allow the recent traumatic events to stop them from celebrating their friendships.
When she and Justin entered, a band was playing, the lights were low and couples filled the dance floor.
She had opted not to attend the dinner before the party, although she and Justin had staked out the outside, watching to see if anything went wrong.
She scanned the room, looking for anything suspicious.
“You look different out of uniform.”
Amanda turned to see Donald looking up at her from his chair.
“I’m still on the job though.” She sipped her club soda. “What about you, Donald? Are you enjoying seeing the old crowd?”
He shrugged. “I’ll never forget how some of them treated me after the accident. But it’s nice to be vindicated in that I made a success out of myself in spite of them.”
“Good for you,” Amanda said, wondering if she’d been wrong about Donald.
Across the room, she noticed Carlton’s brother dancing with Eleanor Goggins, one of Kelly’s bridesmaids.
Near him, Raymond Fisher stood talking to Renee Daly, his former girlfriend and one of their original suspects. The couple looked chummy, raising Amanda’s doubts again. Was Renee simply consoling him, or did she have another agenda?
Suddenly a commotion broke out near the door, and a small crowd gathered. Justin squeezed her arm. “Stay here and keep an eye on everyone. I’ll check it out.”
Amanda’s nerves prickled, and she wove through the room, studying the faces of the people she’d known as teenagers, hating that she was now viewing them as possible murderers.
Her phone dinged that she had a text and she slid it from her purse and checked it, expecting to see a message from Justin.
But the text was from an unknown.
She squinted in the dim lighting, her heart hammering as she read the text.
I have information on the killer you’re looking for. If you want to know who it is, meet me in the stairwell.
Amanda jammed the phone back in her purse, then scoured the room for Justin to tell him about the message, but she didn’t see him anywhere. He must still be outside.
Determined to follow up, she wove through the dancers and people hovered around the bar and ducked through the back exit to the hallway. She veered down the hallway toward the dark stairwell.
When she reached it, she heard a muffled footstep, then the brush of clothing, as a shadow appeared from the corner. Something shiny glinted in the darkness. A gun.
Shock immobilized her when she recognized the person aiming the weapon at her.
* * *
JUSTIN SHOULDERED HIS way through the shouting and voices outside the ballroom exit, then jogged over to where a small crowd had gathered.
“What’s going on?” he asked one of the young men.
The guy pointed to the right. “Someone trashed the float.”
Justin inched his way closer and saw two women about to climb on the float. “Who would do such a horrible thing?” someone cried.
“We have to get those dolls off the float,” the other one shouted.
“Wait.” Justin caught up with them and gently grabbed the first woman’s arm. Then he saw what had upset them. Two dolls in cheerleading clothes were set up on a football field on the float. But their clothes looked as if they were covered in blood and the dolls had been hung by their necks from the goalposts.
“This may be related to the crimes in town. We’ll need to examine it.” He addressed the group. “I don’t want anyone to touch this float.” He gestured toward one of the men. “Get one of the security guards. I need him to watch this until the crime team arrives.”
The gentleman jogged toward the door to the ballroom while Justin tried to quiet the crowd. He circled the float searching for anything else out of place. A knife. Forensic clues. A note or photo of some kind.
But he saw nothing else out of the ordinary. The hair on the back of his neck prickled, and he scanned the group outside in search of someone on the periphery watching.
The killer was here. She wanted to enjoy her classmates’ reactions.
But the group had thinned, milling back into the dance. The guard approached, and he explained that he needed him to cover the float while he phoned for a crime team. Of course dozens of hands, maybe a hundred, had touched that float so it would be hard to weed out the killer’s prints. But maybe she’d messed up and they could find some forensic clues on the dolls.
He punched in Lieutenant Gibbons’s number while he hurried inside to tell Amanda and monitor the group. But he didn’t see Amanda anywhere. He explained to the lieutenant that he needed a crime scene unit, then tried Amanda’s number, but she didn’t answer.
Anxiety mounted.
The only reason she wouldn’t answer was if there was trouble.
He spotted Betty Jacobs, one of Kelly’s friends, and approached her. “Have you seen Amanda?”
She shook her head no, and he moved along the bar asking others.
“She was heading toward the stairwell a few minutes ago,” Donald said. “She received a text and rushed out of the room.”
Justin thanked Donald, then rushed into the hallway toward the sta
irwell. The area was dark, but he noticed something shiny on the floor below the stairs. He bent down, a seed of panic sprouting.
Amanda’s gun lay on the floor by the wall. Scuff marks marred the floor leading toward the back door.
The killer had been here. And he or she had Amanda.
* * *
AMANDA SILENTLY CURSED herself for letting the woman get the jump on her with the gun. Of all the people she’d suspected, it had never occurred to her that Carlton Butts’s mother had been vindictive or strong enough to carry out a series of crimes for ten years.
But the woman had coldly shoved a pistol to Amanda’s head, then tied her hands behind her back and was shoving her into an old van. “I thought you had trouble walking.”
“And I thought you were Carlton’s friend, but you were just like the others. You deserted him when he needed you.”
“I didn’t mean to do that,” Amanda said. “I cared about him.”
“Then why have you been running all over town trying to stop me.” The woman’s eyes blazed with rage as she slammed the door shut, jumped in the front of the van and sped from the parking lot.
“Because killing those women isn’t right,” Amanda said, hurling herself to a sitting position in the backseat as she struggled with the ropes behind her back.
“You know how they treated my son,” she snarled as she took the curve on two wheels. “They killed him.”
“I understand how you feel and that you’re angry,” Amanda said. “But Mrs. Butts, a lot of teens and kids get picked on. Not all of them commit suicide.”
“No, some of them go in and shoot the bitches,” she said. “But my Carlton was too sweet for that. But they drove him crazy, drove him to such despair that he never thought anyone would like him, much less love him.”
She sped down the highway, mumbling incoherently about each one of the women she’d hurt and what they’d said and done to her son. “He was a bright boy, so smart,” she continued on a rant. “He could have been something one day. You know he loved science. He might have worked on one of those space stations or discovered a cure for some rare disease.”
Amanda worked at the knot behind her back, slowly threading the end through the loop. “I think he could have done that, too,” she said. “But he gave up, Mrs. Butts. He made the choice not to fight back and—”