by Rita Herron
How could she blame her? Her father barely acknowledged Josie.
Finally Josie picked up. “Hey, Mom.”
“Where are you, honey?”
“Still working on my research. I’ll be there soon. Don’t wait up.”
Anna cautioned her that a murderer was on the loose, then closed her eyes as she ended the call, anxiety riddling every bone in her body.
It was almost like the past was repeating itself. Like the murders were starting all over again . . .
CHAPTER TEN
Sheriff Buckley beat at the side of his head with his fist and spit the sleeping pill into the plant in the corner.
Fucking brain tumor was robbing his mind. And that girl Felicity . . . she had come to see him, reminding him of what they’d done years ago.
Worse, now Anna was home, messing with his head by being in the house. He never should have let her leave Graveyard Falls.
But he’d had to send her away to protect her.
Just like he’d had to send that damned Johnny Pike to jail. By God, he’d had the pictures and evidence to prove what a sick son of a bitch that kid was.
And that other girl who’d come forward—she’d cried in his arms and told him all the things Johnny had done to her.
He had to save his precious Anna from that horrible fate.
He switched on the radio and heard a newscaster talking. “With Johnny Pike’s parole hearing less than a week away, letters are pouring in from both sides, some advocating that he be denied parole while others believe that with so much time passed, the police should review the evidence presented at the trial.
“The fact that a woman was killed on the day of the memorial honoring the Thorn Ripper victims has also raised suspicions that the two cases might be related. Police have not released details of the MO, although some speculate that Pike may have garnered a copycat. Others have even suggested that Pike was innocent, and that the killer may have moved to another area after his arrests to avoid being caught. And now they fear he’s back.
“An investigation is under way, but the town of Graveyard Falls will not sleep soundly again until the killer is apprehended. One body has been found at Graveyard Falls this week. Will there be another?”
Buckley flipped off the radio and grabbed his winter coat. He’d damn well go watch those falls himself and make sure no psycho took another girl up there and left her to die.
And if this was someone with an itch to help set Pike free by casting doubt on his guilt, he’d find the asshole and lock him up just like he had Pike.
He’d done what he had to do back then, and he’d do it again if he had to. He didn’t care if he’d crossed the line.
The killer had dressed her in a wedding gown?
Mona massaged her temple with two fingers, contemplating what Cal had said. “What was the cause of death?”
“She was strangled,” Cal said. “And left with a garter around her neck. The blue kind like women wear at their weddings.”
Mona envisioned the garter she’d worn at her own ceremony and remembered Brent cracking a joke about what else he was going to take off as he’d slipped it from her leg. When he’d tossed it toward the single men, Cal had caught it.
Her gaze met his, and she realized he was remembering that moment as well.
But he quickly moved past it. “According to the girl’s mother and friend, Gwyneth didn’t have any enemies or old boyfriends,” Cal said. “That suggests the killer chose her at random.”
“Or that someone was stalking her,” Mona interjected. “Someone she might not have even known was interested in her.”
“That’s possible. He could have been in one of her classes, a professor, hell, the guy at the grocery store or online . . .”
“That makes it more difficult to catch him, doesn’t it?” Mona asked.
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean we won’t.” Cal raked a hand through his hair. “We’re looking into the dress angle—maybe if we find out where it came from, we can figure out who bought it.”
“That makes sense,” Mona said. “Was there anything unusual about the crime scene? Did he pose the victim?”
Cal nodded. “He painted her lips with red lipstick, although it was smeared in a grotesque way as if he was mocking her. We’re also testing the lipstick for the color, where he might have gotten it.” He paced the kitchen, glanced at the photo of Brent and him on the sideboard, then jerked his head back toward her. Some emotion she couldn’t quite define darkened his eyes.
“He also left her at the edge of Graveyard Falls like the Thorn Ripper did. I’m thinking he could be a sicko who’s fascinated with the story, even a fan of Pike’s. He wants to be legendary like him.”
Mona worried her bottom lip. “That would imply a certain pathology.”
“I know.” Cal’s voice dropped a decibel. “And if he copies Pike’s crimes, then there will be two more murders.”
A chill chased up Mona’s spine. “You’re suggesting a copycat. But the MO is somewhat different this time, isn’t it?”
Cal nodded. “There are similarities and differences. The location and the roses are part of both MOs, as is the hair. But the wedding dress and garter are new.”
Mona tried to put herself in the mind of the killer. “That could imply motive. This killer is older. High schoolers, prom dates—he’s past that stage. He wants a wife or he lost one recently.”
“Maybe we should look into widowers?”
“That’s not a bad idea.”
Cal nodded. “So the unsub fixates on Gwyneth, and when she doesn’t go along with his plan, he strangles her.” Cal paced as he spoke. “Then he has to get rid of the body, so he carries her to the falls and leaves her, hoping no one will find her body for a while. That way he’ll have time to cover his tracks. Create an alibi. Bury evidence at his house or wherever he killed her before he dumped her.”
“And he makes it look like the Thorn Ripper so he’ll get attention. Maybe he does it to glorify Pike in some way.”
Mona took a sip of wine, her pulse pounding as she envisioned the man dragging the poor woman’s body through the snow and leaving her out in the elements. “Or he could be mimicking the Thorn Ripper to remind the town of those murders and that Pike shouldn’t be paroled.”
A heartbeat of silence passed while Cal considered her suggestion. “What else can you tell me about this man?” Cal asked. “Who should we be looking for?”
Mona traced her finger around the stem of her glass. “I would say he’s a loner, that he suffers from low self-esteem. He may have been abused as a child. And he desperately wants love.” Worry made her chest clench. “He wants it so badly that he’ll kill if he doesn’t get it.”
Cal rolled Mona’s observations over and over in his mind as they ate and cleaned up the dishes.
He needed to say good-night, he thought, as Mona sank onto the sofa and offered him a tentative smile. But with a murderer on the loose, he couldn’t bring himself to leave her alone. Hell, he wanted to pull her up against him and hold her until his need for her dissipated.
Although holding her would be too tempting. It would make him want more, make it impossible to leave without touching her. Kissing her. Confessing that he wanted her.
“Did the killer take anything from the woman?” Mona asked, dragging his mind back to the case. “Like a photo from her house, a piece of jewelry, or . . . again, could that be the reason he cut her hair? So he’d have something to remember her by.”
And relive the kill. “I don’t know. I’ll ask her mother if anything was missing.” He scraped a hand over his chin. “If this man is so desperate to be loved and this woman didn’t work out, do you think he’ll keep looking?”
Mona sighed. “I hope I’m wrong, but yes.”
Cal muttered a sound of frustration. “And if she doesn’t work out, he
’s gotten a taste of killing and he’ll kill again.”
“That’s usually the way a serial killer is born,” Mona said. “But there has to be a trigger for him to start killing now. Something in his life changed recently. Some big event that set him off.”
“Like he was recently rebuked by a girlfriend?”
“Yes. Maybe his fiancée broke off an engagement or his wife left him or he lost a family member . . .”
Her gaze met Cal’s. He wondered if she was thinking of Brent then. The thought brought reality crashing back.
Mona had loved his friend, not him.
He drained his beer and set the bottle on the table. “I should go and let you get some sleep.”
A wary look flashed in her eyes, and he remembered the earlier phone call. “Unless you think that caller might try something and you want me to stay.” God help him, he wanted to stay. The thought of a madman hurting Mona made fear streak through him.
“I have a gun, Cal. I’m not afraid,” Mona said, her voice strong. “But if you need a place to sleep while you’re in town, you’re welcome to sleep here.” She hesitated. “Brent would have wanted that.”
Hearing her say his friend’s name made him fist his hands.
He was a fool to torment himself by being close to her.
“Thanks.” Needing some distance between them, he stood and squared his shoulders. “But I rented a cabin on the river.”
“Oh.”
Was that disappointment in her voice, or had he imagined it because he wanted her to want him?
“Thanks for your opinion on the case, Mona.” He grabbed his coat and headed toward the foyer.
“Cal, wait.”
Cal paused by the door, one hand on the doorknob.
Mona hurried to him. “I almost forgot. I wanted you to have Brent’s medal,” she said softly.
The memory of that day was like a punch in Cal’s gut, a reminder of the wrongs Brent had done.
He didn’t want that medal anywhere near him.
But how could he refuse without explaining to Mona that her husband hadn’t been the hero she’d thought him to be?
“Cal, I know you miss Brent, and I don’t mean to upset you,” Mona said, struck by the pain in Cal’s eyes. “But I know Brent would want you to have that medal.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
Mona took his hand in hers and squeezed it. “Why would you say that? You were his best friend.”
“I . . . a young man died that day, Mona. It’s not something I feel like celebrating.”
“I’m sorry. Brent didn’t tell me that part.”
“Yeah, he was a kid.”
She took a deep breath. “That was a tragedy, but his death wasn’t your fault,” Mona said.
Cal released a heavy breath as if he wanted to say more, but he took the medal and jammed it in his pocket.
Mona squeezed his hand. God, she wanted to hug him. “I’m sorry, Cal. Is there anything I can do to help?”
His dark gaze skated over her, despair and anger and a dozen other emotions flickering in the depths. Brent always claimed Cal needed him, that Cal might have gotten lost years ago if he hadn’t taken him under his wing.
When they were young, Cal had been smaller than Brent, had borne the brunt of their last foster father’s abuse. Brent admitted he’d stepped in a half dozen times and taken beatings for Cal. He’d been afraid Cal wouldn’t survive.
Of course, in their late teens, Cal had had a growth spurt and shot up four inches taller than Brent. He’d also developed broader shoulders, muscles that flexed when he moved, and a fierce look that stopped most perps in their tracks.
“I just need to focus on this case.” Cal opened the door and the blustery wind swirled dead leaves inside. “If you’re right about this unsub, I have to stop him before he kills again.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Cal battled the fierce winter wind as he climbed into his SUV. The dark clouds above mirrored his mood.
He hated to leave Mona on a night like this, especially knowing someone had called making insinuations about her marriage. Someone who might reveal the truth about Brent and destroy her world.
Worse, a killer was in Graveyard Falls and might be hunting another victim.
His nerves on edge, he studied Mona’s house and property as he phoned the lab.
Peyton answered.
“Did you get anything on that surveillance video?” Cal asked.
“I’m afraid not.”
“How about biological evidence or DNA on the victim?”
“Actually, Dr. Wheeland sent over a loose brown hair that he collected from the body. It was short, not the victim’s,” Peyton said. “We’ll run DNA, but that’ll take time. And if it’s not in the system, we’ll need someone to compare it to.”
“Anything else you can tell me?”
“The particles beneath her nails were wool fibers from an old blanket or coat. The garter is a dime a dozen. The brand is sold at all discount stores, bridal shops, party stores, the Internet.”
A needle in a haystack. “What about the dress?”
“That’s more interesting,” Peyton said.
Mona’s silhouette appeared through the sheer curtains, and Cal watched her walk into the kitchen. He needed to tell her to get blackout curtains, or shutters.
“The dress wasn’t purchased in a store or online.”
Cal started the engine to warm the car. “Where was it purchased, then?”
“It wasn’t. The dress was homemade.”
“Homemade?” The lights in the house flicked off, and he realized Mona was headed to bed. The urge to go back inside and guard her tonight ripped through him.
“Yes. I’ll try to find out where the fabric came from. The beads on the dress are unusual, old, so that might help.”
Cal’s mind raced. “So whoever this killer is either sews or knows someone who does.”
“That’s a possibility. Or the dress could have been passed down in the family,” Peyton pointed out. “The lace was yellowed as if it had been kept in a closet for a while.”
A family heirloom would complicate matters. There was no way to track where the materials might have been bought. “All right. But just to cover our bases, run a search on seamstresses in the area, bridal shops, and businesses that specialize in alterations.”
“I’m on it.”
“Also look at Craigslist, garage and estate sales, antiques houses, and personal ads. Maybe someone in Graveyard Falls recently bought this dress or sold it, and we’ll get a name.”
Then they might be able to nail this bastard.
Unable to sleep, Mona combed through the yearbook again. She found the pictures of the girls who’d died—Tiffany, Candy, and Brittany.
Judging from the number of candids of them together, they had been inseparable. All cheerleaders. All on the homecoming court. All served on the prom planning committee.
A fourth girl caught her eye, and Mona tried to distinguish her face. She looked familiar.
She flipped back to the individual shots and found her.
Felicity Hacker.
Her breath caught. Felicity was in several shots with the other three girls. She had volunteered on the prom committee and had helped decorate one of the homecoming floats.
She’d also been an alternate on the cheerleading squad but had to give that spot up.
Hmm. Had she been close to the girls, or had she been ostracized because she’d been pregnant? Had she resented being rejected from the group? And if she was pregnant, who’d fathered her baby?
Felicity had been upset when she was talking to the sheriff at the memorial. Had she known something about the Thorn Ripper?
Mona had no access to the original case files, but she’d ask Cal.
Beca
use Felicity was definitely hiding something.
The house smelled like rotten eggs. And bleach.
Constance shivered at the sight of the skulls and dead animals in the house. Will preserved them. Talked to them. Called each one by name as if he knew them.
He moved up behind her to watch her clean the dishes, and she fought nausea.
She had already failed and been punished twice. Now she had to scrub the frying pan again. No dishwasher in this house. She needed to dry the glasses and polish the silver until it shined.
He liked egg salad and deviled eggs. She had to get it right. Boil the eggs by the timer. Peel them without tearing apart the egg. He liked them smooth and shaped to look pretty like his mama made.
He was crazy.
Tears blurred her eyes as she carefully chopped the pickles into tiny bits as his mother instructed. The ropes around her wrists had been loosened just enough for her to work in the kitchen.
She considered cutting them with the knife she was using to chop the ingredients for the salad, but it wasn’t sharp enough.
Even if she did free her hands, he’d bound her ankle to the floor with a thick chain so it clanked against the wood as she walked, and it wasn’t long enough for her to reach the door to escape.
Hopelessness welled inside her, threatening to bring her to her knees. All day she’d tried to get free, but she’d only managed to rub her skin raw and wear herself out.
He moved over to the fire with his mother and sipped his whiskey.
Then he leaned toward his mother and whispered something in her ear.
Constance’s hand was shaking so badly she dropped the knife and knocked the platter onto the floor. The glass shattered, and eggs, mayonnaise, and sweet pickles splattered the kitchen rug, an old braided monstrosity that should have been thrown out years ago.