by Rita Herron
Eric rubbed at his chin and leaned forward to study the picture. The man in the photo had short-cropped hair, was wearing a suit, and looked like he belonged at a bank. He certainly didn’t fit the image of a killer.
“No, I can’t say as I do.” He gestured around the shop. “We get mostly college students in here. Although a few businessmen traveling through stop in, and of course the hunters in winter.”
“His profile said he was a hunter.”
Eric frowned. “He doesn’t look like any of the hunters I know.”
Cal silently agreed. Just as Peyton had suggested, he suspected the picture was a fake.
That the man had posted it to lure Gwyneth to the bar.
He texted the picture of the man to Eric. “Pass this picture around and see if any of the employees recognize him.”
As soon as he got in the SUV, he cranked up the defroster to melt the ice particles clinging to the window, then flipped on the radio to the local station. To Mona’s show.
“Yes, this is Mona,” a familiar voice said. “What’s on your mind?”
“You’re a fake, Mona.”
Cal stiffened. Whoever it was had disguised his or her voice.
“What do you mean?” Mona asked, a note of caution in her tone.
“How can you give people advice on marriage when your own was a lie?”
“What?”
“Why don’t you just leave town instead of nosing around? Nobody wants you here.”
“Who . . . is this?” Mona asked.
Heavy breathing followed, along with an ominous silence.
Heart pounding, Cal punched the accelerator and raced toward town and Mona.
He was a romantic at heart.
He bought flowers on the way back to the cabin. The thick snow and ice on the mountains forced him to drive slowly, although with his snow chains he bypassed several idiots who’d skidded off the road near town.
By the time he wove down the winding road through the woods, his stomach was growling. He rubbed his belly, dreaming of a big, hot pot of stew and corn bread.
Excited at the possibility, he barreled to a stop in front of the cabin. But one glance at the chimney and he realized the fire had gone out.
Dammit to hell. He had to teach Constance how to keep it going while he was gone. He didn’t want the house getting so cold that Mama took a chill.
He held a load of firewood under one arm while carrying the roses in the other hand. But the minute he opened the door, he smelled urine.
Pure rage shot through him. He jerked Constance up by a hank of her hair and shook her.
“What’s wrong with you? You haven’t done anything all day? You didn’t help Mama to the toilet.”
Constance stared up at him with wide bloodshot eyes, her cheeks red, her face swollen. “Please let me go.”
He looked at the breakfast dishes still piled in the sink, then at his mama, who was slumped in her wheelchair. The poor thing hadn’t even had lunch.
“You were supposed to clean up the kitchen. Help Mama get her bath before I got home, and make dinner!”
“How could I? Your mother wouldn’t untie me.”
“I was scared to. She was going to run,” his mother said.
Constance started to sob, and he slapped her once, twice, until she fell silent and simply stared up at him. Respect. A wife had to respect her husband.
He looked over at his mother for advice, then knelt beside her. “Mama?”
“I’m sorry, honey, she said she was too good to do dishes and chores.”
“That’s not true. She made that up.” Constance shook her head wildly back and forth. “Please just give me another chance. I can be everything you want.”
He looked into her eyes and wanted to believe her. She was so beautiful, and she would give him perfect children. So he smiled and kissed her cheek where he’d hit her.
“One more chance,” he whispered.
But this time she’d better get it right.
CHAPTER NINE
Mona gripped the phone, an uneasy feeling rippling through her at the caller’s tone. Locals had called in all evening, upset over the recent murder.
And now this . . . What did the caller mean about her marriage? She glanced at Chance through the glass partition, but a perplexed expression covered his face.
“Tell me your name and why you don’t want me here in town.”
But the caller didn’t reply. Instead the phone clicked into silence.
Mona gritted her teeth. “I’m afraid that’s it for tonight,” she said. “Take care and have a safe evening.” She took off her headphones, then hurried to talk to Chance.
“Did you get that caller’s name?”
“No, I’m sorry. And the number showed up as an Unknown.”
Mona sighed. The voice had sounded disguised. She couldn’t even tell if it was a man or a woman. “What did he say when you screened the call?”
“Just that he needed your advice.” Chance pulled at his chin. “Why? Do you think you know who it is?”
“No . . . I mean, I can’t be sure.”
Earlier, both Felicity and Kay had been upset with her questions. Maybe it was one of them calling. Or one of her clients’ spouses. She did have one troubled woman whose husband was abusing her.
Although it could be that man Will.
Cal parked in front of Mona’s house, his instincts alert.
Why taunt Mona with the fact that her marriage hadn’t been as it seemed? Who else knew Brent had been a pathological liar?
Hell, Brent had lied to him so many times that he’d begun to wonder if he’d known his friend at all. If Brent had manipulated situations when they were young to get Cal in trouble, then took the blame in an attempt to make Cal feel indebted to him . . .
He pulled his hand down his chin. He hated that that thought had occurred to him, but once it had taken root, Cal viewed their years with the foster families in a different light. Little things that had seemed inconsequential at the time now took on new meaning.
The sound of an engine rumbling jerked him from his thoughts, and he glanced in his rearview mirror and saw Mona’s Honda barreling down the drive. He cut the engine and stepped from his SUV, bracing himself to see her.
She slipped from the car and picked her way through the snow. When she looked up at him, a wariness washed over her face.
Still, his body hardened with the same intense attraction he’d always felt for her.
The first time he’d laid eyes on her he’d been drawn to her. But she’d been upset and vulnerable because her parents had just been murdered.
Brent had declared his interest on the way home that night, and had moved in on her so quickly that Cal’s head had spun.
“Cal, I’m glad you came,” Mona said as she approached.
He gave a quick nod. “I can’t stay long, the case . . .” He let the sentence die, hoping she’d buy the excuse.
But the memory of that cryptic caller made him want to pull her into his arms.
Disappointment flared in her eyes, but the look quickly faded, and she led the way to the door. Her hand shook as she jammed the key in the lock. Was she upset about the caller? Or . . . had she discovered one of Brent’s lies?
“Come on in, Cal. I have some lasagna I can heat up for dinner.”
“You don’t need to do that.”
“Don’t argue. I know you’re working a case, but you have to eat. And I could use the company.”
It was so unlike Mona to say she needed anyone that his senses prickled. “What’s wrong?”
Mona tugged off her shawl and scarf and hung them on the coat rack. “It’s been a long day. I had a really odd call right before I left the station.”
“I heard it,” Cal said, earning him a surprised look.
> “You listened to my show?”
He shrugged off his jacket. “It was on the radio on the way over.”
Her movements were agitated, and he followed her to the kitchen, where she put the food in the oven. Then she poured herself a glass of wine and handed him a beer from the refrigerator.
He caught her arm, startled when a frisson of electricity shot through him. “Talk to me. Tell me about the caller.”
Her eyes softened, a yearning in them that tempted him to pull her into his arms. But if he did, he might not be able to resist a kiss. So he released her and gripped the beer bottle just to have something to do with his hands.
“Do you know who the caller was?”
She ran her fingers through the tangled strands of her silky hair. “No. Chance, the producer, screens the calls, but some callers want anonymity, and it showed up as an Unknown.”
He hesitated. “The voice sounded disguised.”
“I know.”
“We can put a trace on the phone at the station in case he or she calls again.”
Mona sipped her wine. “Let’s hold off. Maybe it was just a prank. Some disgruntled client or client’s spouse who wants to antagonize me. Besides, if callers think I’m tracing their calls, they’ll stop phoning in to the show.”
She sank onto a barstool and faced him. “Cal, you knew Brent better than anyone.” Mona’s eyes held a hint of vulnerability when she looked up at him. “Why would the caller say my marriage was a lie?”
Cal’s pulse pounded. This was the moment he’d been dreading, the reason he’d avoided her. If he told Mona the truth, he’d hurt her.
But if he lied, he was no better than Brent.
Mona hated the questions nagging at her, but she couldn’t shake the caller’s comment. There were times during her short marriage when she’d felt like Brent had secrets, when she’d sensed he hadn’t exactly lied but that he’d embellished the truth to impress her.
At the time she’d been flattered that he wanted to impress her.
But when she’d lost the baby, he’d shut down, and she’d wondered if he might leave her, if he thought she’d failed him by miscarrying their child.
Although when she’d confronted Brent about her feelings, he’d assured her he loved her and that whether or not they had a baby made no difference to him.
“Cal?” Mona asked, disturbed by his silence. “How would anyone here know about my life with Brent? I didn’t move here until after his death.”
Cal shifted and scratched at the label on his beer bottle.
“What’s wrong, Cal? Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“No, of course not.” His professional mask slid back into place, and he leaned against the breakfast bar. “I think the question is—who made that call? And why do they want to upset you? Is there a client you’ve pissed off recently?”
Mona pulled out salad fixings and began to chop green peppers and onions to add to the mix. “I’m always pissing off someone,” she said with a halfhearted laugh.
“Do you have a name, someone you think might want to hurt you?”
“No. Well, there is one man I suspect of abuse, but I’ve only seen his wife once.”
“His name?”
“I don’t feel comfortable sharing that yet, Cal.”
“Anything else happen recently, any odd encounters?”
“Well, I have been looking for my birth mother.”
Cal raised a brow. “I didn’t know you were adopted.”
She toyed with the chain around her neck. “I didn’t either, not until my parents died. They left me a letter with this charm saying my birth mother gave it to me, and that she was from Graveyard Falls.” She tossed the lettuce in the bowl. “Today I searched county records and found the names of three women who gave birth around the time I was born.”
“You went to see them?”
“One woman passed away. But the second lady, Felicity Hacker, said her baby died. She seemed upset, and then after I left, she sped by me on the highway.”
“That does seem odd. But people who give their babies up for adoption usually want privacy. Sometimes they want to remain anonymous with good reason.”
A long hesitation. “It’s still hard not to know the truth. Not to know why someone didn’t want you.”
He sipped his beer, and Mona silently chided herself. “I’m sorry, Cal. That was insensitive. I know you grew up in the system with Brent.”
His eyes darkened. “We survived. But I understand your need to know. What else did you learn?”
Mona shrugged. “The other woman, Kay Marlin, has a record for prostitution.”
“You met her?”
Mona sipped her wine. “Yes. Let’s just say she wasn’t happy to see me. And if she is my mother, she doesn’t want a reconciliation.”
“I’m sorry, Mona. But maybe it’s better if you leave it alone.”
“That’s what everyone keeps telling me.” But she didn’t know if she could let it go. She felt incomplete, as if a part of her were missing. “I’m sorry for dumping on you, Cal,” Mona said softly. “I realize you’re working that murder investigation. I had several callers tonight in a panic about it. Do you have a suspect?”
A shuttered look passed over Cal’s face, indicating he was troubled.
“Not really. I searched the victim’s apartment, which yielded nothing, then questioned the mother and a friend. According to them, Gwyneth Toyton had no boyfriends, lovers, or exes, or any enemies who would want her dead.” He heaved a weary breath. “The night she disappeared, she and her friend went to a bar. The friend met up with an old flame and stepped outside, leaving Gwyneth alone. The bartender and bouncer didn’t remember her. I spotted her on the surveillance camera but can’t see the face of the man she left with.”
“What about her phone?”
“We haven’t found it yet.”
“You searched her computer?”
“Yep. No online dating sites or solicitous emails, although the tech team is looking over the computer and her phone records, and checking into a couple of private Facebook messages.”
Mona set the salad on the bar, slathered butter on a loaf of French bread, then popped it in the oven. She liked that he was talking to her about the case. It felt like old times.
“There’s another disturbing aspect of the murder,” Cal said. “First of all, the killer cut Gwyneth’s hair.”
Mona frowned. “That is odd. Maybe it’s a trophy. Or maybe he wanted her to look like someone else. Someone he knew?”
“You mean he’s fixated on someone from his past, and he’s trying to replace her?”
Mona nodded. “What else?”
Cal straddled the barstool. “The victim was wearing a wedding gown when she was found.”
“But you said she didn’t have a boyfriend?”
“She didn’t. She wasn’t engaged.”
Mona’s pulse clamored as a profile began to take shape in her mind. A profile indicating this wasn’t an isolated murder.
That other women in Graveyard Falls were in danger.
Her father was having a bad night.
“Why did you come back here?” he shouted at Anna.
Anna battled tears. Why had she come? She hated him and he hated her. But . . . she felt this damn obligation because he was ill.
“Daddy, just take your medication and go to bed.”
Suddenly his eyes clouded over, and he began to tremble and cry like a baby. “Who are you? Where’s Lilith?”
She swallowed hard, took his arm, and ushered him toward his bed. “Mom is gone. I’m your daughter and you’re sick. You need to take your pill and go to sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.”
Although she had no idea what the morning might bring.
He cursed but wa
shed the pill down with water, then crawled into bed. She pulled the covers over him and turned off the light, although the bitterness inside her couldn’t be doused in the dark.
She had lost so much because of him.
Needing distance between them, she shut the door and roamed the house where she’d grown up. The antiques that her mother had loved looked dated and worn, the pale walls faded from age, the blue-and-white dishes she’d collected old-fashioned but still classy on the sideboard in the dining room.
Her mother had had a great eye for detail and had kept an immaculate home.
Too bad she hadn’t related to her daughter more.
Too restless to sleep, Anna made a cup of tea, then poured a dollop of whiskey in it, stoked the fire, and flipped on the television. A special news report was airing.
“Police have identified the young woman whose body was found at Graveyard Falls as Gwyneth Toyton, a student at TCAT. FBI agent Cal Coulter has been brought in to assist Deputy Ian Kimball with the investigation, but police have not revealed any details at this time or if they have any suspects. Women are urged to be cautious and to travel in pairs until the killer is apprehended.”
Anna’s hands trembled as time swept her back thirty years. The faces of the young women who’d died at Graveyard Falls her senior year of high school haunted her just as they had crowded her nightmares for years.
Skeletal faces, girls with wide, white, empty eye sockets, their shrill cries for help boomeranging through her mind. The vile accusations of the families, the accusatory looks from the residents of Graveyard Falls, her father’s condescending, damning tone, her mother . . . leaving to escape it all.
It was your fault, Anna. Your fault . . . your fault . . . your fault . . . You should have known . . . but you loved him. You were blind to what he did. To the monster he was.
To the beast within who stole young girls’ lives.
Nausea flooded her.
Had she known? Or had she loved Johnny so much she couldn’t see past his sexy smile?
She punched her daughter Josie’s number into her phone, anxious to make sure she was safe. Where was she now? She’d said she was going to the library to work on a research paper, but Anna had a feeling Josie had simply wanted to get out of the house.