Just For A Heartbeat (Piper Anderson Legacy Mystery Book 2)

by Danielle Stewart

  “I want to help,” Ruby said the first chance she had to speak up. “I can do whatever you guys need. Just point me in the right direction.”

  “There is no direction yet,” Bobby sighed.

  “I’m sorry to do this to you on vacation. I knew laying this on someone else would be a lot.” Guilt pulled at her stomach as she looked at the solemn way Bobby flipped his phone around in his hand again and again. But it was Piper’s face that gave her hope.

  “We need another person,” Piper chimed in. “Is there anyone else on the island who has access of any kind? Someone who’d be knowledgeable about the area, about the people on the surrounding islands? Someone you can trust fully?”

  “Patrick,” Ruby answered before she could stop herself. “He’s a reporter. He’s done a few stories about my company and different finds we’ve had. He used to be an investigative reporter in Boston before moving out here. He’d have access to some archives and information, and people really like him.”

  “Have him come by our cabin tonight for dinner. We’ll bring him in on this and see if he’s interested in helping.” Piper was standing and tugging Bobby by the arm.

  “Where are we going?” Bobby asked like he’d been woken from a dream.

  “By the time Maggie calls tonight our vacation will be over. So as of right now we’re going to fit a week’s worth of relaxing into the next ten hours.

  “Sounds enjoyable,” Bobby sighed.

  “Plus you need to get the power back on at our place, some charcoal for the grill, and we’ll need some drinks.”

  “Relaxing.” Bobby grinned sarcastically as they both waved goodbye to Ruby.

  “It’s going to be all right, Ruby,” Piper promised. “You’re not alone in this anymore. See you tonight at dinner.”

  Chapter 4

  The new crust style at Hopper’s Pizza is as original as it is delicious. Patrick typed the same sentence three times, then erased it just as he hit the punctuation. There was no way to jazz up an article about dough. He’d already used his skills to make the butterfly migration piece earlier in the year sound whimsical. The article he’d written last week about the new design of the ballot cards, which were now oblong rather than square, didn’t seem like it could be dressed up, but he’d made the insignificant changes sound relevant. His creative well was empty. No, it was downright barren, and he knew it would show in his writing.

  Glancing around his home office for inspiration, he eyed each book on the large shelf to his left. Literary giants, men and women who’d left their print on the world through captivating tales and powerful opinion. Patrick’s best work was behind him and every time he handed another piece to his editor at the Maine Press Herald a little piece of his soul went with it.

  His phone lit with a text message, and he relished the excuse to slap his laptop closed.

  Ruby: Hey Patrick. I’m wondering if you could help me out with something. If you’re free meet me at the cabin up the hill from mine around five.

  It only took him a second to form his reply and assure Ruby he’d be there. Anything was better than a blank screen and a blinking curser reminding him he was a failure.

  Having plans helped him get through the rest of the day. After finding a dozen excuses not to fill the rest of the afternoon with work, Patrick walked up the long path to the cabin nearest Ruby’s. The meeting place was a mystery, maybe not a covert mission, but he’d take whatever level of excitement he could get.

  Dipping his head, he tried to peek through the thin curtains as he knocked lightly. There was a rental car in the driveway and some welcoming home-cooked-food smells coming from the open kitchen window. When the door opened a frazzled dark haired woman with large eyes and soft features looked up at him expectantly.

  “Oh, you’re here first. Where is Ruby?”

  “Uh,” Patrick stuttered out feeling like he’d just tried unsuccessfully to sell this woman a set of encyclopedias and she was waiting for him to turn and leave.

  “You’ll have to excuse her,” a tall man with a high and tight haircut said as he pulled her back and invited Patrick in. “I’m Bobby, this is my wife, Piper. She’s trying to cook dinner and that makes her borderline insane. You must be Patrick.”

  “It’s not my fault this damn meatloaf turned out all meat and no loaf.” Piper circled around the pan on the small table as if she were ready to fight it. “Where is Ruby?” she snapped. “She should have been here fifteen minutes ago.”

  A phone rang and Piper fumbled to answer it, still wearing the oven mitts but finally yanking them off with a huff. “Wait, come to your house? I already made dinner up here.”

  Piper hung up the phone and started covering dishes with foil and handing them out. “Ruby is waiting for a package to be delivered. We have to eat at her place instead.”

  “She’s good at that,” Patrick laughed and it drew their eyes to him skeptically. “Lying, I mean. Well maybe you don’t call it that, more like self-preservation.”

  “What are you talking about?” Bobby asked, attempting to look serious as he balanced two dishes and a stack of napkins under his chin.

  “Are you guys friends of Ruby’s? I just assumed you were on the island visiting her and so you knew.”

  “Knew what?” Bobby pressed.

  “Ruby doesn’t leave her house. She has agoraphobia. When I got the text to meet her up here, I was intrigued, but part of me figured I’d still end up at her place.”

  “Agoraphobia?” Piper asked, looking worried.

  “I’m not sure she’s been diagnosed. I just know she doesn’t leave her place. I’m not sure if it’s always been that way or what. I’ve only known her a couple of years. I’ll tell you though, before I figured it out my ego took some pretty hard hits when she turned me down every time I invited her out.” Patrick loaded his arms with all he could carry and followed Bobby and Piper down the driveway.

  “I should have picked up on that,” Bobby said disappointedly. “The car obviously had not been driven in some time. She had a lot of boxes from things being shipped to the house. There were signs.”

  “It’s nice that she invited you over for dinner though,” Patrick said, trying his best to sound upbeat. He’d overshared with these strangers and suddenly wished he could take it back. “Are you vacationing for the week?”

  “We were,” Piper said flatly. “But the vacation is over now. That’s why you’re here. We’ve got something to share with you, and we hope you’ll help. This news about Ruby, though, certainly complicates things.”

  They arrived at Ruby’s door as she pulled it open and smiled warmly at them all. He’d never gotten used to how pretty she was. No matter how many times he saw her, it still took him a minute to adjust, to remind himself that her lips weren’t his to kiss. He couldn’t reach out and slip a lock of her shiny brown hair around his finger. Even on a day like today when he was this close to Ruby, it was important to remember she was always miles away.

  “Why didn’t you tell us you have agoraphobia? Bobby and I would have understood. Maybe we could even help. I never would have asked you to come up for dinner. I hope it didn’t stress you out more,” Piper said apologetically while shimmying by Ruby and putting the meatloaf on the table.

  “Uh,” Ruby said, her eyes shooting to Patrick accusingly. Even with a look of anger he still had to take in her beauty. There was a curve to her upper lip he often considered kissing, maybe even playfully nibbling. But her armor was strong and her resolve to be alone was unwavering. Encroaching on what made her feel safe and happy felt like such a violation he couldn’t bring himself to do it. No matter how attracted he was to her. It didn’t seem fair.

  “Sorry,” Bobby said, trying to defuse the situation. “Patrick clearly intended to tell us in a very tactful way and was implying that we should keep it to ourselves. But Piper is direct.”

  “It’s not like we wouldn’t have found out,” Piper shrugged, her face soft and understanding. “I find dancing around
a topic to protect someone’s feelings normally ends up causing more problems. Now it’s out in the open. We all know it. Do you want to talk specifically about what keeps you from leaving the house? We’re here if you want to.”

  “Not really,” Ruby said, still looking slighted, which made Patrick feel like a heap of garbage. “I’d like to just move on and do what we planned. I’m not the focal point of tonight. The photographs are.”

  Piper started cutting up the meatloaf, which was crumbling into pieces rather than slicing. “Patrick, Bobby is a police officer, and I am a social worker. Ruby has uncovered some photographs that we believe could be linked to a crime. The information has been handed off to the FBI but unless there is more we can provide it will sit on a shelf for the foreseeable future. We intend to investigate.”

  “Yes,” Patrick said, his voice too loud for the small cottage. “Yes. I’m in. Count me in.”

  “You don’t know what it is yet,” Bobby said, narrowing his eyes at Patrick.

  “Maybe you should take a look first,” Ruby cautioned, though in her heart she was relieved to hear his unwavering intention of support.

  “I don’t care. I have a skill set you can use. I was an investigative crime reporter in Boston for five years. I’ve been writing in this market for a while; I know the area. I can help.”

  “You’re pretty eager,” Bobby challenged, not looking convinced of Patrick’s motives. “Don’t you have other responsibilities you’ll need to handle at the paper?”

  “I’m currently writing a piece on pizza dough at the local shop.”

  “So you’re looking to get your name back in the headlines? You miss the front page?” Piper asked, scooping some potatoes onto each plate.

  “No,” Patrick defended. “The pizza story will be on the front page here. That’s the problem. I made a move to this place for a reason, and I’m not complaining, but if you’re saying there is an opportunity to do something with a little excitement then I’m in.”

  “Eat your meatloaf first,” Ruby said, sliding a plate toward him. “You won’t have an appetite once you’ve taken a look at the photographs.”

  “I’ve seen my share,” Patrick replied, ignoring the flash of memories that blinked through his brain. He’d been so eager to hunt down stories and flush out injustice that he’d forgotten there were real people associated with the trauma and plight he’d uncovered.

  “I like this guy. I believe you,” Piper said, as she spread a stack of photographs across the table. There was a pile of body parts in almost all the pictures. Blood, muscle, and skin fell on top of each other chaotically.

  “We’re expecting a call from an FBI forensic analyst soon,” Bobby explained, and Patrick felt every eye on him.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Ruby asked, finally looking like she’d forgiven him for sharing her secret. “I don’t want you to feel obligated.”

  A ringing noise brought the chatter to an abrupt close. “It’s her,” Bobby said, pushing his dinner plate aside and turning around the laptop.

  “Maggie, thanks so much for calling,” Bobby said stiffly.

  “I’d like to make it known that I’m calling under protest,” Maggie snipped back quickly. The four of them moved in view of the computer and watched as Maggie crumpled her face in anger. “I wasn’t told there would be an audience.”

  Bobby hastily introduced each of them, trying to sound cheery. “I know this is unconventional, and I’m putting you on the spot.”

  “Protest,” Maggie repeated. “Piper, you should know I find your husband to be a know-it-all and insufferable.”

  Piper nodded her head. “It’s nice to be starting on such common ground. I find it always better to work with like-minded people.”

  Maggie tried to stifle her smile, but she was unsuccessful. “Tyson is putting in a good word for me with the director about a position I applied for at the field office in Phoenix. That’s the only reason I agreed to help with this. I want to reiterate that this is off the record. These are my opinions, and I will not testify to them in court or anywhere else.”

  “Noted,” Bobby said, reaching for a pad and paper. “We’re just looking to see if there are any more leads we could run down from your analysis of the photographs. I know there wasn’t much to go on.”

  “That’s where your novice eye is wrong,” Maggie said haughtily. “There was quite a bit to discern from these photographs. I’ll list my findings in the easiest laymen terms possible so you can follow.” Maggie flipped through some notes and huffed loudly. “It is my opinion that these photographs are authentic. I believe them to be the dismembered bodies of at least three victims. Women. Ages somewhere between fifteen and twenty-five years. Caucasian. Similar heights and builds. Fit, trim, athletic. Good muscle tone.”

  “Some good it did them,” Piper sighed, her eyes fixed on the photographs sadly.

  Maggie ignored the interjection and continued, “The list of things I cannot tell you is much longer but important. There is no way from these photographs to determine cause of death. The visible wounds were made post mortem. I cannot say whether there was any sexual assault. There are no apparent features to help determine identity such as birth marks or tattoos. The heads are not in the photographs and the torsos are mostly covered by the limbs.”

  “So we can’t tell who these girls were?” Bobby asked, sounding deflated.

  “I wasn’t finished,” Maggie barked. “Everything from this point on is based more on the profile of the killer than the victims. It’s conjecture based on my experience and training. Clear on that?”

  “Yes,” Bobby grumbled when it was obvious Maggie was waiting for his answer.

  “I was able to enhance two of the photographs with quite a bit of integrity. Isolating the wound pattern, I believe the weapon that was used was serrated with teeth about six millimeters apart. You see this tearing of the flesh here?” Maggie held up a zoomed-in frame and pointed like a game show host at the prize. “This indicates there was a hooked end to the blade used. Most common style would be a gut hook knife seen in hunting and fishing supply stores. The blade would be between four and six inches long. Now, about your perp.”

  “What can these tell us about the killer?” Ruby asked, her back straightening up with interest.

  “Profiling based on a crime scene is a widely regarded form of analysis.” Maggie clearly took the question as an insult.

  “Of course,” Ruby said quickly. “Of course it is, and I’m sure you are very good at it. I just spent a good amount of time looking at the photographs, and I didn’t see any sign or leads toward the killer.”

  “Maybe the thousands of hours I’ve spent doing this job really do count for something.” Maggie shrugged. “Now, these seem to be two different crime scenes, though obviously they took place at the same location. The set of photographs that contain only one body occurred at a different time than the set that contain two bodies. Serial killer profiles tell us the two bodies were likely an escalation, so we’ll assume the single victim predates the other. Do you notice anything different about the victims in these scenes?”

  Surprisingly Piper was the first to jump in. “The placement of the bodies seems different. The two girls are lumped together just kind of strewn around. The girl there alone seems like she was placed. She’s got a blanket underneath her.”

  “Right,” Maggie said, pleasantly surprised. “These other girls have been stripped of their jewelry, you can see by the tan lines here and here. It’s essentially stripping their identities. That’s also why some killers dismember a body, to remove the humanity from it. But this first victim is treated with more dignity, more care. She still has her jewelry, see the ring on her finger? He, and I’ll label our killer as male based on statistics, allows her to retain her identity. I believe under the blanket is the severed head. Over here,” she pointed again to the picture and held it up for them to see, “I think this may be her hair. Blond. I would assume the other victims would be
as well since they share other similar features and skin tones.”

  “And covering the head would signify what?” Bobby asked.

  “In some cases it’s just to eliminate the risk of the photographs being found and the person being identified. But in this scenario I believe this was likely his first kill and, more than that, he knew this young woman. It may have even been an accident. The decomp and lack of pooling blood shows he didn’t dismember her right away. She likely was with him dead but in one piece for around forty-eight hours. These other girls were dismembered within maybe twelve hours of death.

  “He got away with the first kill. This likely emboldened him to kill again. My advice would be if you can identify this victim, the singular one, then you’ll have the best shot of linking the killer to her. The others were probably random victims.”

  “The bodies, besides being cut into pieces, don’t look otherwise disturbed,” Patrick noted.

  “Right,” Maggie agreed. “I’ve noted in my findings that there were no cuts, outside of the dismemberment wounds, no burns, no bruises or other injuries to all the parts of the body that are visible in the photographs.”

  Ruby cleared her throat like she wanted to speak up but couldn’t find the courage to interject again.

  “Something to add?” Patrick asked, encouraging her with a nod of his head.

  “The film dates the pictures back to the late eighties early nineties. The type of film suggests he had the equipment to process the film by himself.”

  “I don’t think he would have dropped these things off at the local film shop,” Maggie agreed.

  “This wasn’t very common back then. We may be able to track who was purchasing this type of film in the area back then.”

  “Brilliant,” Patrick sang through a smile.

  “That’s not really my department,” Maggie said flatly. “But I agree: it’s a solid angle. I can tell you more about the killer’s profile. He has no medical training. None at all. The way he dismembered these bodies was about the most difficult way possible. It would have been brute force, not technique. Even someone with a basic knowledge of anatomy would have made better choices and saved themselves a lot of elbow grease. But it does tell us he’s likely a large man, physically capable of cutting through muscle and bone with a relatively small knife. So rule out anyone with medical knowledge or a small frame.”