by Nora LeDuc
“I’m not a donut shop.” Luke tapped his fingers on one of the files. “Stay on topic, Conroy. I spoke to the members of the Brattleboro Downtown Merchants. They confirmed Rose was present during their planning meetings for the Main Street Spring Fling. The group met during the ME’s estimated timeline for Dahlia Blue’s death.”
“The sister still could have driven to New Hampshire, killed her twin and gone back to Vermont in a few hours.”
“Except, her car was sitting at a garage waiting for a part.”
Conroy’s forehead wrinkled in lines of concentration. “She rented a vehicle.”
“I called the rentals in the area. None reported a woman with the name or description matching Rose Blue using one of their cars.”
Conroy scratched his head. “She took a taxi or borrowed the wheels. Someone will step forward when they hear about the murder. I’ll give the Vermont press a statement.”
“Pass out the one we released to the Ledgeview News and you should re-interview some of the Vermont neighbors and boutique customers.”
“What’s the verdict on the foot search around The Ledges?”
“Unless the foot team finds a lead today to support expanding the area, we’re finished up there.”
“That’ll make the men happy,” Conroy commented.
“That’s what I live for.”
“Yeah, that memo got lost,” Conroy said.
Luke sat back in his seat, forcing himself to relax. “While you’re in Vermont, I’ll interview the sister again and hit the theater where the victim was last seen. I’ll grab the cast list. If anything breaks, I’ll let you know.”
Conroy grunted and headed out.
Luke pushed away his ire and fixed his attention on the notes he’d written about Rose. His exasperation faded. “Who are you, Rose?”
When she spoke about her sister, he sensed her vulnerability, yet she was confident and took center stage when she talked about her business. He’d spent part of the last few days, reading the interviews the Vermont police had passed onto him. They all described Dahlia Blue as full of life, creative, friendly, good sense of humor and enthusiastic about her boutique. She shared a close relationship with her twin.
Many of their friends and neighbors then launched into a description of Rose. They described her as ‘dedicated, committed to her job.’ One even went so far as to call her ‘overzealous.’ No one referred to her as their close friend or confidant. Instead, they used words like private, reserved and surrounded by invisible boundaries to explain her. He’d heard similar words from his ex wife about himself
He remembered the day she’d told him she’d spoken to a divorce lawyer.
“Why would you speak to him?” Luke asked, unable to understand what was going on.
“You can’t be serious.” His wife’s lower lip jutted out, and she jammed her hands on her hips. “You’re never home, and when you are, you think and talk only work. There’s never been us time for a movie or a conversation in the last two years. We lead separate lives. If you’d paid attention when I told you we had a problem or how I worry about you on your job, we might be having a different discussion.” She paused in her tirade and wet her lips. “I’ve tried to be patient, to be the cop’s wife, but I can’t do it anymore. I’m done. We, and I use that word loosely, are done.”
He’d felt blindsided. After their painful split, he’d spent months examining his relationship. But it wasn’t only women, his conscience reminded. If he’d paid attention to his father’s feelings, his dad’s life would have ended differently. Luke had skipped his dad’s birthday, Father’s Day celebrations and spent less than ten minutes wishing his parents a Merry Christmas on the phone for the past five years. Luke felt the familiar punch of regret to his gut. He wouldn’t get caught in another relationship that would end in the same crushing hurt and doubts. It was a sad fact that he had a better connection to Old Charger. At least his car never let him down.
He switched his attention to the web search for Dahlia. None of the online social networks revealed a Dahlia Blue. Had she used a different name? “Didn’t you want to visit Tweet land, Miss Blue?”
Forty-five minutes later, he clicked out and sat staring at the blank screen. Where was a clue, a lead? He swiveled away from the monitor and toward his printer. He swiped up the sheet from the feed with the article from the Brattleboro newspaper. He stared down into the face of Rose’s sister with one arm around a dark-haired, husky man. Underneath their picture, the caption announced the engagement of Miss Dahlia Blue to Mr. A.J. Edwards.
Holding up the nuptial announcement, he contrasted Rose with her sister. Rose’s hair was a shade darker but otherwise the two appeared to be identical. Did these twins share the same tastes in food, movies or men?
Despite his earlier promise not to think about Rose, his thoughts stayed on her. He remembered the shape of her body when he’d pressed her close to his side at The Ledges. Afterward, the scent of her perfume clung to his clothes. For a moment, he imagined the flowery fragrance as he sat at his desk. He inhaled a deep breath and swore Rose’s perfume was suddenly in his space.
He ran a hand over his face. The woman brought problems along with her perfume. At The Ledges, her wide, innocent hazel eyes were fixed on him while she announced unknown details about her sister’s grisly murder. He could guess what would happen if word got out she was able to relay information from her dead sister to him. The guys at the station would love that one, and the Chief would be all over him, demanding physical evidence to back up each of her tips.
Lucky for him, the Chief was away for a few days at his daughter’s wedding. When he returned from the celebration, he would want Luke’s results. If Rose was lying and misleading him, he’d pay.
His gaze fell again on Dahlia’s wedding announcement. Her ex worked as a mechanic on foreign cars. Luke would try tracing him through garages in the nearby states. It was too much of a coincidence that the guy disappeared when Dahlia did.
Luke grabbed his father’s cold case files from his desk. No time to look for clues about his father’s death today. Luke stuffed the folders into the cabinet and locked the drawer.
Frank was expecting him. He grabbed his leather jacket from the back of the chair, but stopped at the sound of the fax machine whirling into action. He stood waiting for the news to spit out. Finally, he snatched up the paper. One word leaped out at him: Forensics.
* * *
Rose paced the length of the living room, paused and glanced at her watch again. Lennox had called and told her he’d swing by to talk. His voice had sounded low and hurried when he announced he’d be there in less than five minutes.
She tilted her chin upward. “Gram, I sure hope Lennox found Dahlia’s killer.”
Rose shoved the blanket on the sofa bed aside and sat down. The fragrance of rose tickled her nose. Where was that scent coming from? She inhaled, trying to determine the source. The scent grew stronger. She rubbed her arms, feeling a draft. She leaped to her feet and spotted her.
Dahlia stood at the end of the room in front of the two windows with the shades drawn tight. Rose stifled a cry.
Dahlia’s wet hair was plastered to an ashen face. She raised bound hands toward Rose.
“What do you want?”
Dahlia pointed at her.
“Me?” She struggled to breathe before she rallied. “Please, Dahlia, I need your help. I can’t find the person who murdered you. Tell me his name.”
Her sister’s image dimmed against the white wall.
“Wait! Why did you come to Ledgeview? Why did you leave home? Who threw you off the bridge? Give me a name or a description. How do I find him?”
Dahlia vanished from the room. The rose perfume and the cold air disappeared.
“Okay, I’ve had enough.” Her sister never cooperated. Rose stuffed the gun in her purse, scooped up her coat and left the apartment. She fumed over Dahlia as she ran down the stairs. Her sister always went by her own agenda, coming i
n to work late, leaving early. Outside Rose welcomed the ordinary sounds of traffic and people passing without disappearing or glancing her way.
Why was Dahlia haunting her? She must want to send her a message, or maybe her sister was playing a game to drive her crazy. Dahlia’s sense of humor was often twisted or juvenile. Rose stomped to the other end of the walkway and zipped her parka to her chin though the temperature was close to fifty.
How long would her sister’s ghost appear? Was her time short or forever? Rose stopped in front of the steps. Cars shot past, and the odor of exhaust mixed with the cool air. She paced the walk for several more seconds and scanned the street for Lennox. The back of her neck prickled. Someone was watching her. “Dahlia?”
No hint of rose cologne floated in the air. It wasn’t her sister. The feeling was different, almost nauseous. Who was spying on her? Rose whirled around, searching the sidewalk, the fronts of the other buildings and the empty parked cars at the curb. Her hand went to the gun inside her purse. She closed her fingers around the weapon. Other than the vehicles driving past, she detected no other movement on the sidewalk or street. Was it her imagination?
A dull ache vibrated in her head. The street warped. Daylight dimmed. The apparition of the path through the woods raced in her mind. Footsteps crunched in the snow. A shadowy figure hovered over her sister, Dahlia, lying on the ground.
No, not now. Rose’s hands dampened. She closed her eyes, forcing the image and sounds away. She needed to stay alert. She couldn’t have a vision. She wasn’t a TV. Perspiration broke out over her skin. She squinted at the traffic passing by. No one tossed a glance her way.
The image of Dahlia pointing her bound hands inched into Rose’s mind.
She stepped closer to the building. The roar of the current filled her ears. The river, dark and gray, raced across her mind. She ran a hand through her hair and wished she could tear the scene from her brain.
The sound of wheels squeaking on the sidewalk grabbed her attention. A gray-haired woman pushing a shopping cart shuffled toward her. Beyond she spotted Lennox’s dark car at the red light. The light turned green, and his vehicle headed toward her. She ran to the curb and jumped inside before he had a chance to cut the engine.
“Didn’t your mother teach you to wait until the car comes to a complete stop before diving in?” Lennox asked, irritation raising his voice.
“Forget your coffee this morning? You sound a little grouchy, and my mother would rather teach me how to catch a cute guy’s attention for a ride than lecture me about safety.”
“Your mother sounds a little… different.”
“She was different. She was a teenage mother who never grew up. Raising children wasn’t Mom’s forte. Even before her death, Gram was our main care provider. Mom was always leaving us with her to go off somewhere.”
“Speaking of somewhere, why are you outside? I was planning on meeting in your apartment. Rose, your stalker could drive past and mark you for his next victim.”
“I didn’t want to stay locked up inside for days.”
“You are supposed to lock yourself up.”
She reached up and pushed the metal knob on the door. “I was getting claustrophobic in the apartment, and I couldn’t stop thinking about my sister. I was starting to see things.”
“What do you mean? Are you okay?” He leaned toward her. “Your face is almost gray.”
“You’re so sweet, Lennox,” she said in a flat, disapproving voice. “I’m a little jittery. Scenes of my sister kept appearing in my head like a bad horror movie.” She clicked in the seatbelt and crossed her arms over the front of her parka. “I needed some fresh air and went out.”
“Did your sister talk to you again?”
“Sorry, nothing to report.” She twisted the strap of her purse in her lap. “You do believe we communicate, don’t you?”
“I’m skeptical by nature.”
“Good, no one escapes your scrutiny as a suspect. What did you learn when you searched the restaurant? Did you find a lead? Was that the big news you hinted about on the phone?”
“We found a few candles near the mattress. Everything could have been left a year or a few months ago. I alerted Dean he had a possible squatter living downstairs. He called the locksmith and reamed them out for not replacing the side and rear entrance locks. My men and I nailed boards across the restaurant exits and entrances last night with Dean’s permission. No one will get in again unless they carry a battering ram.”
“I heard the hammering. What happened to the mattress and footwear?”
“A courier drove everything to the lab. The chance of getting a suspect’s DNA from an old, well-used mattress is slim.” He keyed the engine and backed into the street.
“I hoped you were about to make an arrest. Guess I was dreaming. We’re striking out everywhere, Lennox. Today has gotta be better. Where are we going?”
“I scheduled my visit with Frank, my dad’s partner and a good friend. Since you’re in the car, you might as well come along. But if anyone asks, it’s a personal visit, not official police business. We can’t risk having legalities questioned if we go to court in the future.”
“Absolutely. Where does Frank live?”
“He’s about eight miles out. But I wanted to talk to you about other news. First, I interviewed Buddy. He confirmed he only met your sister for a few minutes at the Audi and never again. More important, a fax came through from the state forensics lab a few minutes ago.”
“Did we hit the jackpot, a lead to the killer from The Ledges?” Her seatbelt held her in place as she shifted toward him.
“Not quite. We discovered squat at The Ledges. No fingerprints or skin cells were found on the duct tape I found or the newspaper stuck in your doorway.”
She sank against her seat. “Your news isn’t encouraging. I thought you found something.”
“No prints or skin cells from the North Conway victim either, but they analyzed the duct tape used on your sister and the other woman. The lab traced them back to the same lot.”
“Which means?” She waved both hands in the air, hoping to speed him up.
“Duct tape lots have their own numbers, and minute similarities can be detectable in a lab. Since the tape used in the two homicides came from an identical roll then...”
“Okay, you’re saying a serial killer murdered my sister.”
Chapter 8
They’d all been perfect. Naïve, trusting girls who believed no one would hurt them. Rose was one of them. He saw it in the way she roamed the streets alone. Trust would be her downfall.
The police would search for her because it was their job. Then she’d fade from their memory, but not all. She’d always be one of ‘the special girls.’
“Technically we don’t have enough proof at the moment to label your sister’s killer a serial, or that your stalker is the person who murdered Dahlia,” Lennox said. “Here’s what I believe. One assailant murdered both women and possibly more in the past, and if not stopped, will continue in the future. In these types of cases, there’s often a pattern of physical similarities among the young women who died, and the most common thread is opportunity. You’re Dahlia’s identical twin. You can’t stand around on the sidewalk like a target. You’ll end up being his next victim.”
Rose’s hands shook. She folded them together and averted her face to the window to regain her composure away from Lennox’s watchful eyes.
The pressure of his hand on hers snapped her attention back to him. She stared at his profile in surprise. He continued to keep a steady gaze on the road, and she fought the urge to link her fingers through his.
Lennox broke their contact to take a left turn without a comment.
She congratulated herself for not overreacting. He was simply offering a gesture of sympathy. He probably reacted the same with anyone who suffered a loss. She was lucky he didn’t pat her on the head.
“When we visit Frank,” Lennox said, “if you enjoy the flowers
in the yard, be sure to tell him. He enjoys the compliments and works hard to earn them.”
“Then I will be off to a good start with my name. How long has he been into his hobby?”
“Frank began gardening after his wife left him years ago. The guys at the station called him the Pansy Man. I’m going to ask him to unofficially join our investigation.”
“What? Are you serious? You’re bringing in a person referred to as Pansy!” She couldn’t keep the shock from her voice.
“Even though Frank’s officially retired, he did the work of two detectives and still gets the inside dirt. He’s got connections to the station. He gets together with the guys for breakfast and coffee once a week at Joe’s Coffee Shop, and people trust him. Frank starts recounting the old anecdotes about his wife leaving him while nursing his wilting petunias, and the women melt and pour out their stories. The older ones start thinking he could be husband material and the younger ones think he’s the grandfather they always wanted. “
“I bet the men don’t.”
“Strange you should use that word, bet. Gambling is his one big vice. As far as the men, he utilizes a different strategy with them. Frank’s a good listener who knows when to ask a question. He’s a pro.”
“If his questions solve the case faster, I’m for him. Solving the crime in a couple of minutes would meet my speed, but I’ll settle for tonight.”
“Thanks for the extra hours. I was worried for a second.” He pulled into the driveway of a modest Cape Cod style house with peeling, white paint and sagging, green shutters. A black Chevy sat in front of the detached garage with a rusty rake leaning against the clapboard.
Lennox grabbed a brown paper bag from the rear seat. “There’s nothing like a little refreshment while you discuss a case.”
“You mean bribery, judging from the gift wrap. Do you bring presents to all your friends?”
“Nah, it’s a little pick me up for brunch. Frank doesn’t want to miss all those vitamins and minerals at the most important meal of the day. Wait a moment, Miss Blue, and I’ll get your door.”