All the Beautiful Brides

by Rita Herron

A growing horror rose inside Mona. The killer had obviously gotten away with murder the first time, likely had even enjoyed the kill.

  “What are you thinking?” Cal asked.

  She rubbed her hands together to warm them. “I think he may be suffering from delusions. He’s a loner and keeps to himself, probably lives off the grid. If he’s trying to satisfy some fantasy in his mind, he won’t stop until he finds the woman who can fulfill that delusion. He wants her to look like a woman in his past, maybe a former girlfriend or someone who rejected him. In some cases of abuse, he may be fixated on his mother.”

  “You mean he wants someone like her, but he also hates her?”

  “I would only be guessing, but yes.”

  “It may be too early to tell if he has a type,” Cal said.

  Mona stared at the body. “So none of the females in Graveyard Falls are safe.”

  “I’m afraid not.” Cal held back a torrent of curses. It was his job to protect them. “Do you think this man could convince a woman to go with him willingly?” he asked.

  Mona scrunched her face as she considered it. “It’s possible he’s handsome, maybe even charming. Or he’s the opposite, the quiet, mysterious type who draws women. But he doesn’t stand out in any way, not overtly.”

  “So no one notices him?” Cal said.

  “Exactly. He’s probably quiet and unassuming. He blends in, and no one suspects what he’s capable of.”

  “You think he’s another teenager like Johnny Pike was?” Sheriff Buckley asked.

  Mona shook her head. “If he was, he would probably choose younger victims like high schoolers. Looking at the profile of the victims, he chooses young, single women in their twenties. The fact that he puts them in wedding dresses suggests he’s around their age, maybe a little older. Early thirties. He’s looking for a wife, so he may have never been married, or like we talked about earlier, he could have recently lost his wife. Something triggered his need to marry now, though.”

  “Hopefully the homemade wedding dresses will lead to something,” Cal said, frustrated. “But we need more.”

  Mona winced as the medical examiner studied the girl’s bare feet. “I wonder what he does with the clothes the women were wearing before he changed them.”

  Cal shrugged. “We didn’t find anything at the first scene. Maybe he disposes of them or keeps them as part of his trophies. We think he took a charm bracelet from Gwyneth Toyton. Once we ID this victim, we can ask her family if she’s missing anything.”

  “Pike took a piece of jewelry from his victims, too,” Sheriff Buckley said. “That’s one thing we never recovered.”

  One of the CSIs shouted that he’d found a partial boot print by a damp muddy spot, but the water from the falls had washed most of it away. Another found a small piece of tattered lace from the dress that must have caught on a branch when the unsub carried her through the woods.

  Cal pinched the bridge of his nose. “You know we’ve been thinking that the killer is trying to mimic Pike’s MO to get attention. What if Pike being up for parole is the trigger, and he started killing to remind everyone how much horror Pike caused, by making the town relive that fear?”

  Mona contemplated that theory. “That would make sense.”

  “You want me to check out the family members of the original victims?” Deputy Kimball asked.

  “Yeah, get a list together and start talking to them,” Cal said.

  Sheriff Buckley cleared his throat. “I know the families, and none of them would do this.”

  Cal frowned. “How can you be so sure?”

  “These are my people,” Sheriff Buckley said. “I’ve known them for years.”

  The sheriff was obviously defensive of the locals. And he probably didn’t want anyone questioning the original case—the case that had made him a hero.

  “One thing to keep in mind is that this killer may have had psychotic tendencies growing up,” Mona said. “Oftentimes, serial killers start out killing animals when they’re young.”

  “Maybe he hunted with a father or uncle?” Deputy Kimball suggested.

  “He could have grown up hunting,” Mona agreed. “But even if he didn’t, he may have enjoyed cold-bloodedly killing just to watch an animal suffer.” Mona paused. “You might contact the schools for kids who acted out, maybe ones with juvenile records. If he’s in his early thirties now, I’d go back fifteen to twenty years.”

  “I’ll have the lab look at that,” Cal said.

  Mona glanced at her watch, and he realized she needed to get back to town for her radio show.

  “I’ll check prisons and mental hospitals for recent releases.” He punched Peyton’s number, anxious to get started.

  The killer might already have abducted his next victim.

  Josie DuKane had a strange feeling about the young man praying in the pew near her. He seemed so humble, nice . . . a little unsure of himself. But he obviously cared about his mother or he wouldn’t be in church praying for her.

  “Maybe we could have dinner sometime,” he offered.

  She considered his offer but remembered why she was here. She had things to do while in town. Answers to find.

  So she declined his invitation.

  Disappointment flickered in his dark-brown eyes for a moment. He looked so dejected that she scribbled her phone number on a pad she pulled from her purse and handed it to him. “Give me a call.”

  His disappointment faded. “Maybe tomorrow?”

  “Maybe.”

  She gave him a little wave, then headed outside into the chilly evening.

  She and her mother hadn’t been in town long. In fact, her mother had resisted coming to visit her father, Josie’s grandfather, for years.

  Something bad had happened between them when she was young. She wished she knew what it was.

  Her mother hated the town and the people here.

  She’d already told Josie they wouldn’t stay long.

  But Josie was tired of all the secrets and lies.

  Her mother said Josie’s father had died before she was born. But she suspected that wasn’t true.

  Maybe her grandfather knew his name. If she could catch him on a good day, he might be able to tell her where he was.

  Then she could finally meet him and find out why her mother claimed he was dead.

  He jabbed the pin against his palm as Josie left. He wanted her so bad he almost chased after her.

  He could see her dressed in white, the lace curling around her delicate wrists and ankles, the hint of that garter beneath her skirt.

  Adrenaline surged through him as he imagined lifting the folds of the wedding gown, sliding that garter off, then planting kisses up her thigh.

  But first they had to walk down the aisle. The roses would look so beautiful against the white lace.

  Yes, Josie looked like the one. She seemed sweet and . . . inexperienced. And she was a churchgoer like him.

  But something didn’t feel quite right about her. Something about those eyes . . . who was it she reminded him of? A picture of a girl his mama had shown him . . .

  Torn over what to do as he headed toward his truck, he remembered that Mona woman who gave advice on the radio. He crawled into the front seat, cranked up the heater to ward off the chill from the blustery wind, and punched her number.

  That damned man answered first. “This is the Ask Mona show. Can I tell her who’s calling?”

  “She’ll know me. It’s really important.”

  A heavy sigh. “One moment, sir.”

  He thumped his fingers up and down while he waited. While her sweet voice spoke to him.

  “This is Mona. How can I help you?”

  “I think I may have found the one.”

  A second of silence passed. “Who am I speaking to?”

  “
You don’t remember me?” he asked sharply.

  How could she not remember him? He thought he’d made an impression on her the last time, but women seemed to look right through him. Forget him. Act like he was nothing.

  His temper reared its head, and he gripped the steering wheel, following Josie in her car. She stopped at a nail place and hurried inside, and he watched as she slid into a seat across from a pretty redhead. Two other women were seated at the nail stations, hands extended as the workers gave them manicures.

  “Oh, yes, we talked before. I thought you might call back.” Mona’s voice sounded a little too light. Fake. Like she was trying hard to be nice to him.

  Was she one of the little liars Mama had told him about? Was she only pretending to care when she really didn’t?

  “Tell me about her. Why do you think she’s the one?”

  Because she was nice to him. But that made him sound pathetic. “Forget it,” he snarled. “You don’t care.”

  “Yes, I do,” she said quickly. “Please, talk to me.”

  “I just want someone to love me,” he said, hating the quiver in his voice. Fuck. He didn’t want to sound pitiful.

  “I’m sure your family loves you,” Mona said. “Do they live close by?”

  His eyes blurred, images of his mama confined to that wheelchair haunting him. He wanted to go back and crawl in bed beside her and have her hold him and tell him everything would be all right just like she had when he was little.

  But everything wasn’t all right. She was dying and soon he’d be all alone. And he hated to be alone.

  He breathed out deeply, ended the call, and drove to the Boar’s Head. He wouldn’t be alone for long.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Mona’s instincts warned her that the man who’d just hung up on her was either dangerous or teetering on the edge of violent behavior.

  And that he might break any second.

  She glanced at Cal, who was watching her through the glass. He’d insisted on escorting her to the radio station and left the police covering the crime scene, saying he didn’t intend to leave her alone until he knew Whit was no longer a threat and the Bride Killer had been caught.

  Chance cut to a commercial, and Cal rushed to her. “That was the same man who called before. Do you think he could be the Bride Killer?”

  Mona chewed her lip, hesitant to point fingers. “I need more information. If he calls back, I’ll try to keep him on the line talking.”

  “His phone number didn’t show up again,” Chance said. “My guess is he’s calling from a throwaway cell.”

  “I just requested a trace on the phone here anyway,” Cal said. “He might slip up and call from a landline somewhere and we can get a location. Why don’t you invite him to call back?” Cal suggested.

  Mona agreed and returned to her microphone, then waited for Chance to give her the cue.

  “This is Ask Mona. I want to implore that last caller to phone me again. I don’t like the way we left things. I can tell you’re lonely and that you need to talk. I’m here when you’re ready.”

  Hopefully he’d take the bait, and she could find out more about him.

  Still, the possibility that she might have been talking to the Bride Killer chilled her to the bone.

  She’d seen the violence and anger in the bruises on the woman’s throat, arms, and wrists. She’d felt his regret in the fact that he’d kissed Gwyneth good-bye before leaving her.

  But that wouldn’t stop him from doing it again.

  Carol Little stopped by the deputy’s office, hoping he’d have more information on the murder. But the deputy met her at the door and jerked her inside.

  She ran a finger along his jaw. “What? Do you want a quickie on the desk?”

  She rubbed her foot up his calf, playing. He was a passionate man, virile, and she wouldn’t mind doing him again. He seemed to loosen up after sex.

  He clenched her wrists, his jaw rigid. “Stop it,” he hissed. “You got me in a shitload of trouble by printing that article.”

  She pulled back, a scowl on her face. “You knew I was a reporter, and murder is news. Don’t you think the people in town have a right to know if they’re in danger?”

  “Yes,” he said, a dangerous glint to his eyes. “But you weren’t supposed to reveal the part about the wedding dress. The Feds are up my ass. They wanted to hold that back in case we have grandstanders coming in with false confessions.”

  “If you didn’t want it printed, you should have said so,” Carol shot back.

  His eyes widened. “We were in bed, I was half-asleep and drunk.” Anger hardened his tone. “Or was that your plan all along? Fuck me so you could pick my brain when you had me off guard? Is that why you’re here now, because you heard there was another victim and you think I’ll talk?”

  Carol went still, her heart pounding. “There’s another victim?”

  The deputy exhaled on a curse. “You didn’t know?”

  She shook her head. “Who is it?”

  “We haven’t IDed her yet,” he said between gritted teeth. “But even if we had, I wouldn’t tell you.”

  Carol flinched. “I’m not the enemy here. I just want to report the news and warn people if they need to be on guard.” She turned and mimicked surveying his office, nodding her approval, before casually wandering to his desk and glancing at the open notepad. Apparently he’d been researching the families of the Thorn Ripper’s victims.

  “See, we’re on the same page. I was going to look into these folks. Thought one of them might have motive to replicate the Thorn Ripper’s work.”

  Deputy Kimball walked over and snapped the notepad closed. “You want to share? Tell me what you found out.”

  Carol smiled, playing along. “Tiffany Levinson’s mother still lives in town. Father is deceased. Brittany Burgess’s parents divorced after her death, and the mother moved away. The father remarried and lives in Knoxville. He comes back once a year for the memorial.”

  “And the Yonkers?”

  “They’re more interesting. They had troubles and separated. The mother lives in a cabin in the mountains. Husband was a vet and started a pet crematorium but died. Candy’s brother, Doyle, runs it now.”

  But that was all she was ready to divulge. “Your turn.”

  “You got more than I did.”

  She doubted that. “Come on, Deputy.” She ran her hand up his arm. “Play nice.”

  “No, you tricked me before, but I won’t fall for it again. You want to sensationalize these girls’ murders to make a name for yourself.”

  He dragged her toward the front door, then pushed her outside. “I have no comment. Now get out.”

  “Ian,” Carol said, ignoring the curious locals on the street. “The town deserves to know what’s going on.”

  “I told you I have no comment.” He slammed the door.

  Carol muttered something ugly beneath her breath. She wanted to go back inside and shake the truth out of him, demand he give her the story.

  But he was too angry at the moment. She needed to let him cool down. Meanwhile, she’d dig around some more on her own.

  She hadn’t yet talked to Tiffany Levinson’s mother, Sara. She would pay her a visit and hope she wasn’t viewed as a pariah like she had been at the memorial.

  Cal watched Mona through the glass, anxious for the caller to phone again.

  If he was the Bride Killer, he might be stalking another victim now.

  Dammit. He needed a lead. He phoned Peyton, hoping she had some information.

  “There are two men in Graveyard Falls who lost wives in the last few months,” Peyton said. “First, Darby Holland. His wife died of an aneurism three months ago. He has three children and works at the post office.”

  “Anything in his background to indicate he might be violent?”


  “No. He’s a deacon at his church and teaches Bible study on Wednesday nights. No police reports, not even a traffic ticket. I talked to his boss at the post office and he said he’s hardworking, kindhearted, and never misses a day of work.”

  He didn’t sound like their man. “Who else?”

  “Virgil William Mulhaney,” Peyton said.

  William—it might be Mona’s caller Will. “Tell me more about him.”

  “He owns several chicken houses outside town. He provides eggs to local stores and chickens to several parts of Tennessee.”

  This latest victim’s fingernails had had eggshells beneath them. And Mona had said the killer might have killed animals as a child. If this man relished slaughtering chickens, it wouldn’t be a stretch for him to choke a woman to death.

  “What happened to his wife?”

  “That’s a little murky. The death certificate said she died when her car ran off the road. But she told someone at her sewing circle that she planned to leave Virgil.”

  A sewing circle . . .

  “He denied knowing about it?”

  “Yes. And the sheriff couldn’t find any proof he’d caused his wife’s death.” Peyton paused. “But this is interesting. When the husband was young, neighbors reported instances where their animals had died. The sheriff suspected Virgil killed them, but they found no proof.”

  So far he fit the profile. “Text me his address.”

  “On it.” A second passed. “There’s another name you might want to check out, too. Doyle William Yonkers.”

  “Yonkers? He related to Candy Yonkers?”

  “Her brother. He’s forty and was released about three weeks ago from a psychiatric ward at Peninsula. You know medical records are hard to access, but I spoke to one of the psych nurses and she said he suffered from depression and bipolar disorder. They medicated him, and he was released under his mother’s custody. I’ll send you that contact info as well.”

  His adrenaline surged. He had two possible persons of interest now. And one was connected to the Thorn Ripper case.

  He hurried to tell Mona that he needed to leave.