“I plan to park myself on the sofa and write all day. Then go to Mother’s dinner party tonight. Would you like to come?”
He flashed a smile. “Thanks for the invite, but I’ve got tickets to the Braves tonight. An old friend came to Atlanta on business. I’m actually cutting out of work early to meet him for dinner and the game.”
Martha Campbell stepped onto the porch. “Hello, Brad.”
“Good morning, Martha. Sorry, I’ve got to run. I just dropped a cane off for Karlyn to use the next couple of days. Get better, Karlyn.”
Karlyn tested the cane as her mother came through the door. She liked the support it gave her. “I’ve got coffee cake if you’re in the mood.”
“One piece will do it for me. Nelda’s promised something rich and decadent for dessert tonight.”
Her mother stayed a few minutes and then made sure Karlyn was settled on the sofa with her laptop and ice bag before she left.
Karlyn thought of everything on her plate and decided the Roy book would have to go on hold indefinitely. Matt and Dakota called her muse instead. She opened her laptop up and began her new Matt Collins book.
“Martha, it was a wonderful dinner,” Mitchell Warner told the group. “But I’ve got a six-thirty tee time. Resa and I need to head home and get some shut eye. Karlyn, are you ready to go?”
Before she could answer, Chris spoke up. “Warren and I can run Karlyn home. I want to talk shop with her for a few minutes.”
Warren sighed. “I thought buying our weekend getaway place in Walton Springs would mean plenty of good food and company. With no thoughts of work.” He smiled at Nelda. “You must come to Atlanta and cater something for us, love. Those chicken and dumplings were to die for.”
Karlyn laughed. “And I don’t think any of us had trouble finding room for the double chocolate brownies.”
Chris brought her purse and cane. She hugged her mother, Nelda, Marge, and Anne goodbye, while Resa told her to call if she needed anything before Logan got back in town tomorrow night.
She got her first glimpse of the new SUV Chris purchased the week before. “I really like this. It makes me think I need to turn in my rental and buy something similar.” Especially if we have children. Thoughts of car seats and carpooling made her smile.
“If we’re going to spend some weekends at our new lake house, we needed something with a lot of room,” Warren explained. “My Porsche and Chris’s BMW convertible aren’t practical.”
Chris pulled out of her mother’s driveway and headed east.
“I think Anne monopolized the two of you tonight,” Karlyn told the pair. “We barely had a chance to talk.”
“She has some fabulous ideas how to furnish the cottage,” Warren said. “And she’s gotten in some pieces at the antique store that we’re looking at tomorrow.”
Chris chimed in, “That’s your department, Warren. Buy whatever you want for the new house. Tomorrow morning Karlyn and I need to work up a treatment for Dakota’s second film.” He looked in the rearview mirror. “So what are you thinking, Karlyn? Anything stand out?”
“I toyed with a few ideas this afternoon. Romantic comedy with mistaken identity seemed like a fun twist. Something like While You Were Sleeping.”
“What about a period piece?” Warren asked. “Dakota looks like a cowboy. He’s from a cowboy kind of state. Why not do something western?”
“Definitely no,” Chris disagreed. “Westerns are usually action-driven. Since Dakota’s turn as Matt is full of physical sequences, we need to steer away from that if we’re going to broaden Dakota’s appeal.” He paused. “Dystopian’s hot now.”
“No way,” she said. “I don’t know much about it. It’s really not my cup of tea. And with having to turn out a new Matt book while I’m working on this screenplay, I don’t have time to immerse myself in the genre and do research for it.”
“Then let’s stick with romantic comedy. Dakota’s got a wicked sense of humor. I’d like to see that come to life on screen.” Chris turned into her driveway. “Is nine too early to start?”
“Not at all,” she said. “I already have a coffee cake Resa baked. I’ll have the coffee on, so both of you come for breakfast.”
“Great. I’m hoping we can firm up our idea and knock out a short outline.” Chris looked at Warren. “I’d also like us to hike around the lake some. See our property.” He turned to Karlyn. “Marge assured me we have a dock area, so we’re thinking about buying a cigarette boat.”
“Sounds good.” Karlyn eased from the car. Chris jumped out from the driver’s seat and took her arm to help her walk up the front steps. She unlocked the door and punched in the alarm code. He kissed her cheek. She waved to Warren and watched them pull out.
She closed and locked the door and decided to gather her laptop from the den before heading upstairs. She didn’t want to have some terrific idea for either Matt or Dakota and have to manage coming back down the stairs for her computer. As she crossed the foyer she remembered she hadn’t set the alarm.
Karlyn backtracked toward the front door and the alarm keypad. A knock sounded at the door. Karlyn bet Chris already had an idea and had returned to put a bug in her ear to sleep on. She put her laptop on the entryway table and eased over to the door, happy that the cane gave her some relief. She threw the deadbolt and opened the door, ready to tease Chris, and found Brad Patterson standing on the porch instead.
Chapter 39
“I’ve been eating here since I was transferred to Atlanta,” Bill Rutherford told Logan as they entered the crowded Italian eatery.
A round-faced gentlemen in his late fifties greeted them, kissing Bill on both cheeks. “Mr. Bill, we have missed you.”
“Long hours with this Rainbow Killer case, Pietro. How’s Carmelita?”
Pietro kissed his fingers. “My angel is gone to Savannah for a week.”
“So the grandbaby finally arrived?”
“Yes. She’s a beauty.” The maître d’ showed the men a picture of a chubby cheek baby with a headful of dark hair. They raved over his good looks, and then Pietro showed them to a corner table.
“I’ll bring the wine. You want the usual? And your friend?”
Logan shrugged. “I’ll have whatever he’s having, food and drink.”
“Then I bring bread and wine first. Don’t talk no business. You need to relax.”
Logan eased back against the black vinyl booth. It had been a long day, crammed full of exchanging information and tossing about theories. A glass of wine would help take the edge off the tension coiled in his body.
Pietro brought an overflowing breadbasket and wine bottle to the table. He uncorked it and admonished them to let it breathe for a few minutes.
As he left, Rutherford looked at him. “What are your career goals, Logan?”
“Considering I’ve just run for public office and now serve as police chief of Walton Springs, I think I’ve done pretty well for myself. Let me get some time in on that job, and then I’ll get back to you.”
“Don’t you miss the challenge of the job you did in Atlanta? Homicide squad at your age? Clearance rate of over eighty percent?”
He frowned. “Why are you asking, Bill?”
“Because I think you should come to work for the bureau.” He waved away Logan’s protest. “You have a fine mind. You see connections others miss. You—”
“Then why can’t I catch Roy?”
“Hell, we have some of the best minds working on Roy. He’s eluded us all. Still, you picked up on the break in the colors. It was subtle. Not much difference between indigo and violet. But I believe you’re onto something.”
“That’s one misstep on Roy’s part, Bill. It doesn’t mean that’ll be his downfall. It could mean something. It could mean nothing. He might be playing us.
Wanting us to go off in some wild direction. Or more likely? We haven’t discovered the indigo-painted body yet.” He paused and decided to come clean. “Frankly, I don’t want or need to work for the FBI.”
“Is it your upcoming marriage? That holding you back?”
“No,” Logan said slowly, choosing his words carefully because he liked Bill Rutherford. “I like working and living in the Springs. Small town America is the backbone of this country. I want to raise a family there. With the bureau, I’d be stationed in some far off place which would switch every couple of years if my evaluations went well. Then I’d finally work myself up to a position in a major city like Chicago or L.A. I don’t want to be a nomad and drag my family around the country.”
He saw the wheels turning in the profiler’s head. “What if we hired you as a consultant? A freelancer. You could be based in Walton Springs.”
Logan shook his head firmly. “No. That would mean nonstop travel, to wherever the next killer struck. Worse, it would include climbing into the mind of some of the worst people on the planet. That’s not for me, Bill. Thanks, but no thanks.”
He took the bottle and poured each of them a generous glass. They talked of inconsequential things until the food arrived, and they dug into their lasagna and bowls of spaghetti and meatballs with gusto.
When they finished the meal, Logan returned to his car. On the spur of the moment, he decided to drive back to the Springs. He’d viewed Saturday’s agenda and didn’t see anything that was worth staying another night. He thought about returning to the hotel for his overnight bag.
But that meant fifteen minutes the other direction, parking and packing, then another fifteen back. The thought of touching Karlyn was a stronger lure. If he left now from this side of town, he could be home in a little more than half an hour.
He punched in Rick’s number and got his voicemail. “Hey, roomie. I’m heading back to the Springs. Would you throw my stuff in my bag and bring it with you? Nothing in there I can’t live without for a day or two. Thanks, buddy.”
He fiddled with the radio. Nothing but commercials, so he turned it off. He thought about telling Brad how someone named Nixon had run the workshop. His partner would get a kick out of that. Brad would have to come up with some new trivia that he hadn’t shared. Logan already had absorbed that Tricky Dick was a cursing Quaker who played a mean piano. And that Nixon’s daughter Julie married Ike’s grandson David.
Maybe if he could land a spot on Who Wants to be a Millionaire and have Brad as his lifeline, he might win enough to redo the kitchen and master bathroom.
As long as the category was presidents.
Presidents . . .
It hit him like a blinding light.
The pattern. Roy’s pattern. His victims all shared a name with that of a president. So simple. So easy. And yet so hard to detect when law enforcement factored in the usual parameters—gender, ethnicity, occupation, religion.
Logan wheeled off at the next exit and pulled onto the side of the road. He grabbed his phone and Googled Presidents. Clicked on the Wikipedia list that came up.
“Washington, Adams, Jefferson, Madison, Mon—” He froze. “That’s the pattern.”
Cyndee Washington, the Asian hooker, was first. Then architect Jerry Adams. Claudia Jefferson. Jorge Madison and Clyde Monroe. Not only was Roy killing people who shared a surname with a president—but he was doing it in chronological order.
He mentally ran through the first seven victims in the Rainbow Killing spree. Number six had been Jared Quincy. The sixth president was John Quincy Adams. A clever but subtle twist.
He continued down the list. Victim Eleven had been Beth Marie Sizemore. Once again, a slight variation. No President Sizemore had ever been sworn into office.
But Beth Marie’s maiden name had been Polk.
Logan stared at the list on his phone. The skip in sequence stood out. After Mario Taylor, Roy should’ve followed with indigo and a Pierce. Instead, he offed a painted Bucky Buchanan in violet.
Why hadn’t they already found the indigo body? It wasn’t like Roy to kill a victim who wouldn’t be discovered within twenty-four hours. Or if Roy had deliberately skipped Pierce for a reason, what was it?
“Oh, God!”
He dropped his phone. Frantically grabbed for it. Went to his favorites and listened to the ringing. “Pick up. Pick up!” He waited a moment. Shit! Voice mail.
Logan let the greeting play and then let his police training kick in. It even surprised him how calm he sounded.
“Karlyn, call me when you get this. I know you were going to your mom’s tonight, so I’ll try you there.”
He quickly scrolled and found Martha’s number as his stomach twisted in knots. “Hi, Martha, it’s Logan. Karlyn wasn’t answering her cell. I thought I’d try her at your place to see if she’s still there.”
“No, Logan. She left not too long ago with Chris and Warren when your parents left. Mitchell’s playing golf early tomorrow, so things broke up a little early. It’s just us old ladies left, sipping wine and gossiping.”
“Thanks. I’ll try her on her cell again. Maybe she was in the shower and missed my call.”
“Did you know she sprained her ankle while she was out jogging yesterday?”
“No. She didn’t tell me.” Because she wouldn’t have wanted me to worry. Skip out of the conference. Come home to her.
“I think it was starting to bother her some. Poor dear, I’m sure she took some aspirin and planned to go straight to bed. She may have turned her phone off in order to get some rest. She and Chris are working on something tomorrow for Dakota Smith.”
Logan’s hand tightened on the phone. “Thanks anyway, Martha. See you when I get home.” He hung up and redialed Karlyn’s cell. Again, voice mail came on.
All he could see was their marriage license application filled out, ready for them to submit this week. With her birth certificate as proof of identity.
Stating her name as Karlyn Pierce Campbell.
Karlyn was Roy’s next victim.
And the Rainbow Killer had waited for Logan to leave town.
He jerked the car in gear and slammed his foot to the floorboard.
Chapter 40
“Brad? What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in Atlanta.”
“I got to feeling guilty. With Logan out of town and you with a bum ankle, I was afraid you might need something. So I met my friend for dinner and headed back to the Springs. I even texted Logan and told him I’d come sleep on your couch tonight.”
She lifted the cane. “You’ve already left me in good hands. The cane’s been a lifesaver. There’s no need to stay over.”
“Don’t make me beg, Karlyn. I already promised Logan I’d come play nursemaid. He seemed relieved—especially with Roy still out there. I don’t want to go back on my word.”
She shrugged. “Okay. Looks like the cops are ganging up on me.” Karlyn ushered him in and locked the door, arming the alarm.
“Can I get you anything? Dr. Brad would be happy to prescribe a glass of medicinal wine for your ankle.” He winked.
She laughed. “No. I’ve already had two tonight at my mother’s and will probably have trouble sleeping because of it.”
He thought a moment. “How about I make you a cup of tea? You have any chamomile? That always helps me sleep.”
“I do. But only if you’ll join me in a cup. Then I think I’ll hit the sack. Chris is coming over early tomorrow. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”
“Okay. Go park yourself and put that ankle up. I’ll make the tea.”
She limped back into the den and used the cane to ease onto the sofa, resting it next to her. She glanced over and saw her cell still sitting on the table. She hadn’t thought to charge it when she finished talkin
g with Alicia because she’d been distracted by the charming Matt Collins. She hoped Logan hadn’t been trying to reach her on it. They hadn’t bothered putting in a landline yet since they both used their cells so much.
Karlyn slipped the phone into her pocket so she’d have it when she went upstairs for the night. The charger was next to the bed. She could plug it in and call Logan to wish him sweet dreams.
And maybe talk a little dirty. The thought made her smile.
Brad joined her a few minutes later, walking slowly as he balanced two cups and saucers. “I didn’t take time to find a kettle and boil the water. Hope you don’t mind your teabag dropped into microwaved water.” He rested both saucers on the coffee table. “Do you mind if I pick your brain for a few minutes while you drink your tea?”
“Sure.” She leaned over and picked up her cup and took a sip, burning her tongue. “Whoa. Too hot. I need to let it cool some.” She returned the cup to the table. “What’s on your mind?”
He sat. “I was thinking about . . . well, I’ve actually started . . . a book. Or tried to start one.”
“I’m intrigued. What’s it about?”
He looked sheepish. “The presidents. What else? You know how I’m fascinated by them.”
“Uh, I hadn’t noticed,” she deadpanned.
He laughed. “Okay. I’m obsessed. I believe they were simply ordinary men who rose to the occasion. Or at least most of them did. Fuckin’ Fillmore will never earn my respect. But they were Average Joes. I want the public to relate to them as they would a friend or somebody they know.
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