Picking up her pace, Lynne entered the lobby to see Bernadine and Chelsea standing in the center of the room. They each had their hands on their hips, glaring at each other. Both were too stubborn to give in and Lynne had a momentary panic that Chelsea might actually attack the older woman. “What’s going on?” she demanded in loud tones, drawing the attention to herself.
Chelsea narrowed her eyes. “You bitch—”
“Go to my office or leave,” Lynne interrupted, pointing toward Chelsea. “Pick one.”
Chelsea tossed her hair, heading toward the hallway. “Whatever.”
“You mind your manners,” Bernadine called out.
Lynne rolled her eyes, joining Chelsea in the office and closing the door. She wasn’t in the mood to deal with the petulant girl who’d betrayed her, but it was the perfect opportunity to sever their relationship. Even if Bernadine decided she wanted to go back to her retirement, Lynne couldn’t have Chelsea in the clinic. She would never trust her again.
Lynne took a seat behind her desk, but Chelsea paced from side to side. “Is it true?” she at last burst out. “Is Nash dead?”
Lynne flinched, her stomach clenching. That wasn’t what she’d been expecting. In fact, it hadn’t occurred to her that word of Nash’s murder would already have spread through town. Stupid, of course. There were no secrets in Pike.
Except for the killer who was hunting them.
A shiver raced down her spine. “Yes.”
Chelsea blinked back tears, her face pale beneath the layers of makeup. “God. On the news they said . . .” She was forced to stop and clear her throat. “They said it was the same killer who murdered the others.”
The girl looked pitiful, but Lynne couldn’t manage much sympathy. Did that make her a bad person?
Lynne shrugged. “I doubt anything is official.”
Chelsea stopped her pacing to send Lynne a poisonous glare. “They also said you found the body.”
Lynne swallowed a curse. How had that particular rumor gotten around? The sheriff? “Kir and I were driving by the school and noticed Nash’s truck,” she grudgingly admitted.
“Did you see his body? You’re sure it was him?”
“I’m sure.”
There was a long, painful silence before Chelsea reached up to wipe away her tears with an angry motion. “This is all your fault.”
Lynne widened her eyes at the accusation. “Don’t be ridiculous. I didn’t kill Nash.”
“It’s your fault,” the younger woman insisted, a fevered glint in her eyes. “If he hadn’t been obsessed with you—”
“What are you talking about?” Lynne interrupted Chelsea’s whining. “Nash and I ended things weeks ago.”
“You ended things. He never moved on,” she stubbornly insisted.
Lynne snorted. “I would say he moved on before we officially broke up. Or have you forgotten that I know about the two of you in the storage room?”
Chelsea managed to look even more belligerent. “That was your fault too.”
“Mine?” The sheer audacity of her claim stole Lynne’s breath. Chelsea couldn’t be serious?
No one was that self-centered.
“He was trying to hurt you,” the younger woman insisted. “That’s why he had sex with me and stole the drugs.”
Lynne frowned. The babbling made no sense. “If he wanted to hurt me, he would have arranged for me to catch the two of you together. Instead he made sure it stayed a secret.”
Chelsea refused to listen to reason. “There was a part of him that still hoped you would get back together.”
Lynne shook her head in resignation. “Even if that’s true, I don’t see how I’m to blame for his death.”
“If he hadn’t been trying to punish you, he would never have agreed to steal the drugs and sell them.”
Lynne’s mouth parted to argue, only to snap shut as she studied the woman in confusion. “Wait. Do you think that Nash was murdered because the killer knew he was the one who stole the sedatives from the clinic?”
Chelsea hunched her shoulders. “Why else? The other victims were all middle-aged women. Why would a serial killer be interested in Nash unless he was worried he might be exposed?”
Why, indeed. Lynne tried to wrap her mind around the possibility, but it was impossible to concentrate while Chelsea was glaring down at her. She would have to wait until she was alone to reconsider Nash’s murder. “Who knows why a madman kills?” she instead muttered.
Chelsea made a raw sound of fury. “You can try to pretend you’re innocent all you want, Dr. Lynne Gale, but I know you’re guilty.”
Lynne leaned back in her seat, as if she could avoid the toxic hatred that pulsed around the younger woman.
What the hell was going on? She’d always assumed people liked her. Okay, she wasn’t Miss Socialite. She didn’t spend every night at the bar or her weekends at the golf course. But she was a respected vet who cared about her neighbors. It was unnerving to think there were people in town who carried such hatred in their hearts toward her.
Chelsea. The sheriff. Who knew who else . . .
“Why are you so eager to blame me?”
Chelsea’s jaw tightened. “You don’t even know what you have, do you?”
“What I have?”
Chelsea waved a hand toward the framed diploma on the wall. “Your fancy education, and a career handed to you on a silver platter.” The younger woman made a sound of disgust. “It’s no wonder you think you can toss men away like garbage.”
Lynne surged to her feet as anger pounded through her. She’d spent eight years in grueling college classes. She hadn’t partied, hadn’t dated, hadn’t gone on spring breaks. She’d either been studying or returning to Pike to help her father. And the demands on her had only increased when she’d graduated. She’d come home expecting to spend years working with her dad before deciding if she wanted to take over the demands of the clinic. Instead her father had taken a nasty fall and the doctor had warned that he needed to retire and take care of himself if he didn’t want to end up in a wheelchair. Suddenly, Lynne found herself shouldering the burden of the clinic, whether it was what she wanted or not.
And this petulant girl, who never took responsibility for anything, was daring to imply that it had all just been handed to her like a gift-wrapped present.
“I worked my ass off to become a qualified vet and then worked even harder to keep this clinic running. As for throwing away men—” Lynne shook her head in disgust. “We both know that Nash was a selfish jerk who was incapable of loving anyone but himself.”
Chelsea sniffed the tears once again running down her cheeks. “He should have been mine.”
Lynne sucked in a slow, deep breath. It was a waste of energy to be mad at this woman. They were complete opposites who would never truly understand each other. “I think it would be best if you cleaned out your desk, Chelsea.”
“Fine.” With a flounce, Chelsea turned to pull open the door. “I didn’t want to work here anyway. It stinks.”
“Wait.” Lynne rounded the desk, struck by a sudden thought.
Chelsea glanced over her shoulder. “What now?”
Lynne held out her hand. “I need your keys to the clinic.”
“I don’t have them with me.”
“I’ll need them by the end of the day.”
There was an awkward pause, then Chelsea cleared her throat. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I lost them.”
Lynne’s hand dropped, her eyes narrowing. Was the girl lying? She wouldn’t put it past her to be that spiteful. Then again, there was a hint of fear in her expression. Was she scared Lynne might call the sheriff?
“When did you lose them?”
“I’m not sure.” Chelsea lowered her lashes, hiding her eyes. “I thought they were in my purse, but when I looked for them this morning to bring them back, I couldn’t find them.”
Lynne’s mouth was suddenly dry. She had a bad
feeling about this. “When was the last time you used them?”
The girl shrugged. “Maybe last week.”
“It’s important, Chelsea,” she snapped.
“I don’t remember.” With a muttered curse, the younger woman headed out of the office and down the hallway. “Just leave me alone.”
Lynne followed behind, watching in silence as Chelsea yanked open the drawers of the desk, indifferent to Bernadine sitting just inches away.
She wanted to demand that the girl answer her question. It was imperative to discover exactly when the keys went missing. It might explain how someone had managed to get the spare truck key from her office. And maybe even take a picture of her sleeping. But Chelsea’s mutinous expression warned she wasn’t about to answer any questions.
It would be easier to turn over the information about the lost keys to the sheriff ’s office. They had the means to force Chelsea to talk.
Lynne was already dreading the thought of making the call.
“That girl is just like her mother,” Bernadine groused as Chelsea slammed out of the office. “Wanting something without having to work for it.”
Lynne was instantly distracted. “Why do you say that?”
“Marie Gallen refused to work, even after her husband walked out on them. And she was always asking people for money or a place to stay.” Bernadine lowered her voice, although they were the only two people in the clinic. “Not many people know it, but years ago, Chelsea’s mother was arrested for stealing money from the booster club. It was almost five hundred dollars. A lot of money back then.”
Lynne arched her brows. She’d never met Marie Gallen, and she wasn’t really interested in her past criminal habits. But the woman’s brush with the law made her consider a new possibility. “Did Sheriff Jansen arrest her?” she asked.
Bernadine nodded. “He did. I overheard him discussing what’d happened with your father.” The older woman smiled at Lynne’s obvious surprise. “He was on the school board at that time.”
Ah. That made sense. Her father was a big believer in community service. She really didn’t know how he’d had the time. She could barely remember to breathe. Of course, she did have the sanctuary to deal with on top of the clinic.
“What did they do to her?”
“Your father wanted her to be released with a warning as long as she returned the money.”
“I assume she did?”
“As far as I know.” Bernadine lifted her hands. “It was all swept under the carpet.”
Lynne nodded. Bernadine’s words had reminded her that many of the good citizens of Pike had some dealings with the law. Sherry had assistance with her evictions. Randi’s father had been arrested. Nash had been in trouble for selling booze to underage kids. Even she had to use the hotline for animal abuse cases.
Her theory abruptly fell apart as she got to Ms. Randall. It seemed unlikely she would do anything illegal.
Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t hear the door open. It wasn’t until Kir appeared next to her that she realized he’d arrived.
“Ready for lunch?” he asked, holding a picnic basket in his hand.
“Perfect timing,” Bernadine said in firm tones. “She needs a break.”
Chapter 21
Rita squinted as the sunlight drilled into her eyes. She groaned and slapped on a pair of dark glasses. It’d been so long since she’d left her house during daylight hours that she’d forgotten the sheer brightness.
Most people assumed Wisconsin was a cold, gray place. And they were right about the cold. But when the sun made an appearance it reflected off everything. The snow, the slick roads, the frosted windows of the nearby buildings. Even the trees had a layer of ice that shimmered like diamonds.
It might have been beautiful if the brilliance wasn’t like steel daggers being shoved into her eyes.
Wincing in pain, Rita hunched her shoulders and trudged down the street. She desperately wanted to return to her house and climb back into bed. Her stomach was icky from too many beers last night and too little food. But that wasn’t why she wanted to scurry back to the safety of her home.
She felt exposed out here with the wind tugging at her shabby coat and the fear that unseen eyes were watching her. It was a stark reminder of who she’d become over the past years.
Poor Rita. The timid mouse of a woman who let her husband beat out his frustration on her face. The woman who finally broke but couldn’t even manage to run over her husband without screwing it up. The woman who lost her daughter and any reason to care if she was alive or dead.
Rita King. The spectacular failure.
She shivered, then fiercely battled back her blast of panic.
She’d allowed her anxiety to keep her away from Rudolf’s funeral. A weakness that shamed her to her very soul. She wasn’t going to let it get the best of her this time.
For the past three nights her old friend had haunted her dreams. As if he was trying to reach out from the grave to warn her. She didn’t know why he couldn’t rest in peace, but she was going to ask him.
It was the only way to get any sleep.
Reaching the cemetery, Rita was forced to wade through the drifted snowbanks to at last reach Rudolf’s grave. The disturbed earth created a mound higher than the other graves, but there was a layer of snow over the top that thankfully softened the sight of raw dirt. It was unnerving enough to be there without the bleak reminder that Rudolf was probably still a frozen corpse in his coffin. It would be months before he would thaw out and start to rot.
Rita nearly gagged at the awful thought.
“Stop it,” she muttered. “You’re here to talk to Rudolf’s spirit, not worry about his dead body.”
Stopping next to the recently installed headstone, Rita concentrated on her friend’s name carved into the marble and the heavy urn that was filled with brittle flowers that rustled in the stiff breeze. Slowly the instinctive unease at being in a cemetery was replaced with memories of Rudolf when he was still alive. A sharp pain sliced through her. She desperately missed him. No one else understood her driving need to dull the pain night after night. Or her self-loathing when she woke the next morning with a dull, pounding headache.
Beyond that, he was a good companion. He told stories that made her laugh or gasp at his brave escapades. A few might even have been true.
Rita reached out to touch the headstone.
“Talk to me, Rudolf. Tell me what’s bothering you,” she whispered.
There was nothing but the whistle of the wind as it pierced the thick line of cedar trees that framed the cemetery.
She frowned. Was she an idiot to think Rudolf was trying to talk to her? Probably. Of course, it wouldn’t be the first time she’d allowed her wild imagination to overtake her common sense. But it’d felt so real.
“Come on, Rudolf,” she muttered. “I’m freezing.”
While stomping her feet, which were going numb from the cold, she accidentally kicked the base of the headstone, causing a layer of snow to fall off the cement urn.
Rita flinched. The last thing she needed was to desecrate a grave. Wasn’t it bad luck or something? Crossing herself despite the fact she wasn’t Catholic, she was distracted by the sight of something white poking out of the dead flowers in the urn. It looked like a stray piece of trash.
With a disapproving click of her tongue, Rita reached down to remove it. Who would do such a thing?
It wasn’t until she pulled it out that she realized it wasn’t a scrap of paper. Instead it was an envelope with Rudolf’s name scrawled on the front.
She hesitated. It was probably a personal note from someone Rudolf had helped. There were a lot of people in Pike who owed him their gratitude. So should she leave it there or take it to Kir?
Unsure what to do, Rita at last decided to open the envelope. If it was something that would remind Kir of his father’s many fine qualities, she’d take it to him. Otherwise she’d stick it back in the urn.
After reluctan
tly removing one glove, Rita ripped open the envelope and pulled out the folded paper. It was a handwritten note and it took a couple minutes before she managed to decipher the words.
Then her heart stopped.
That wasn’t a metaphor.
Her heart actually forgot to beat as she shoved the letter into the pocket of her jacket.
Then, leaning forward, she glanced into the urn. There were more envelopes. Bile rose in her throat, but biting her tongue she forced herself to reach in and grab them. Tucking them in the same pocket as the first one, she turned to hurry out of the cemetery.
She’d been right, a triumphant voice whispered in the back of her mind. Rudolf had been trying to reach out and warn her. Now it was her duty to make sure the letters were given to . . .
Who?
The sheriff? No, she was worthless. Maybe she should contact the FBI. On television they were always the one who solved the big cases, right? But how did a person get ahold of them?
Kir would know, she decided. He was one of those people who was a natural leader. She wasn’t at all surprised when Rudolf had told her he’d started his own business in Boston.
She reached into the pocket of her coat. She never carried a purse. There wasn’t any point. All she ever needed was her phone, her cigarettes, her house key, and a couple bucks. Pulling out the phone, she hesitated before dialing Rudolf’s number. She assumed he’d still have his landline. She heard the sound of ringing, then Rudolf’s gruff voice echoed in her ear, telling her to leave a message.
Her heart did a crazy dance. The voice was so familiar. As if Rudolf was standing next to her. Sucking in a deep breath, Rita quickly told Kir she’d found something he needed to see. Hopefully, the younger man would think to check the answering machine. If not, she would try to find him later tonight.
Stepping through the trees that marked the edge of the cemetery, she heard the sound of an approaching vehicle. She paused, careful to replace the phone in her pocket. She’d destroyed or lost more phones than she cared to recall. She couldn’t afford to buy another one.
Ironically, it was her rare display of caution that was her downfall.
If she’d been looking up, she would have seen the vehicle that was aimed in her direction. She might even have managed to jump out of the way.
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