All the Beautiful Brides

by Rita Herron

He waved Sara over to join them.

  Sara approached, her brows narrowed with worry. “What’s going on?”

  “They found that reporter dead,” Fergis said.

  Sara’s eyes widened. “My God.”

  “What exactly did she say to you when you spoke?” Cal asked.

  Sara twisted the rag tied at her waist. “She asked about my daughter.” Her eyes grew moist and she swiped at them. “Even after all this time, I can’t bear to talk about losing her. It was just so . . . senseless.”

  Compassion filled Cal. He couldn’t imagine losing a child, especially in such a violent manner.

  “What did you tell her?” he asked.

  “There wasn’t much to tell,” Sara said. “The boy who killed my Tiffany was arrested and has been locked up for years.”

  Cal frowned. So Carol hadn’t learned anything new from Sara? “You believe the right man went to jail?”

  Sara’s eyes flickered with turmoil. “At first I didn’t. Tiffany loved that boy and had her heart set on going to the prom with him. But he used that against all the girls and lured them to the falls with a rose.” She wiped at her eyes. “When the sheriff found all that evidence, I was shocked. But it all made sense then, that he did it.”

  Cal stood. “Thanks. I need to see Ms. Little’s car.” Maybe he’d find her computer and whatever she’d stumbled onto that had gotten her killed.

  Anna couldn’t bear to look at Mona. She knew the questions in her eyes would be there. The same questions that had turned into bitter accusations when she’d lived in Graveyard Falls.

  The questions her father had yelled at her the night before he’d arrested Johnny.

  Although Johnny’s lawyer had argued that not finding the jewelry meant Johnny was innocent, it hadn’t been enough. Johnny had folded and accepted the plea.

  “Anna, you know whatever you tell me is confidential,” Mona said. “You might feel better if you talked about it. Did you know Johnny killed those girls?”

  She shook her head emphatically. “No. I didn’t believe it.” At least she didn’t want to believe it.

  “But your father was the sheriff?”

  “Yes, he hated Johnny because I was dating him. He told me that another girl said Johnny attacked her, and that she escaped.”

  Mona kept her face calm, a fact that was beginning to annoy Anna because she sensed Mona wanted to push her harder, wanted her to confess her deepest, darkest secrets.

  There were some things she still never talked about. Things she never would share with anyone.

  Pain so deep that she felt as if a knife was cutting her open from the inside out, splitting her in two.

  “Let’s talk more about Johnny. Did you sense he was dangerous?”

  She’d been asked this a thousand times. “No. When they first questioned him, I was shocked because Johnny seemed like the kindest, most gentle boy in the world,” she said and realized she still meant it. “After they arrested him, I replayed moments in my head over and over, and nothing Johnny ever did or said made me think he’d kill anyone.”

  “He didn’t have a temper?” Mona asked.

  Anna shook her head. “The only time I saw him get mad was when one of the wrestlers bullied a girl with Down syndrome. Johnny stuck up for her, and got in a fight with him.”

  Mona looked surprised. “That was nice of him.”

  Anna smiled sadly. “Before he hit a growth spurt in high school, he was small and got picked on. So he couldn’t stand to see anyone else suffer.” She couldn’t help but wonder how much he’d suffered in the state pen.

  “Have you visited him in prison?” Mona asked.

  Anna cut her eyes away, the guilt and pain pressing on her chest so unbearable she could barely breathe. How could she visit him when she felt as if she’d abandoned him?

  When she’d kept secrets from him. A secret nobody but her father knew . . .

  A secret that had to stay buried to protect her daughter.

  Cal studied Sara. “Is there anything else you can tell me? Before Carol left, was she talking to anyone?”

  Sara wrinkled her nose, her hands still twisting the rag. “Just Billy Linder. But they didn’t talk long, and she jumped up and left. I thought she had a phone call or something.”

  Cal drummed his fingers on the bar. “Did you hear what they were talking about?”

  “Not really.”

  “Tell me about this guy Billy.”

  “There’s something off about him,” Sara said. “I don’t know if something happened to him when he was little, but he’s odd. Sort of slow. He and his mother live way up in the mountains and don’t socialize much.” She gestured at the coyote on the wall above the jukebox. “In fact, he’s the taxidermist who did all the animals in here for Burrell.”

  Cal startled at the mention of taxidermist. “You mean Doyle Yonkers didn’t do all these?”

  “No. It was Billy.” She made a face. “Burrell likes them, but I think they’re creepy.”

  “Do you think Billy is dangerous?”

  “I can’t say for sure. He likes hunting, that’s all I know.”

  That wasn’t much—a lot of men living around these mountains were hunters.

  “I always thought his mama was strange too,” Sara said. “She hovered over him like he was a baby even though he’s probably in his twenties.”

  “So the mother is about your age?”

  Sara nodded. “Her name’s Charlene.”

  Alarm bells clanged in Cal’s head. “The Charlene who claimed Pike attacked her?”

  “Yeah. She dropped out of high school after that. I heard she got knocked up and her daddy was a mean drunk and nearly beat her to death when he found out she was pregnant. Maybe that’s what’s wrong with Billy. He has brain damage from that beating.”

  If he had brain damage, he probably wasn’t smart enough to orchestrate a crime. Still, if he was the last person seen talking to Carol, Cal needed to talk to him.

  He punched Peyton’s number and asked her to find Billy Linder’s address while he searched Carol’s car.

  Anna was still keeping something from her, but Mona couldn’t push her any more. The poor woman had obviously suffered guilt for years over her relationship with Johnny Pike and the teenagers’ deaths.

  Whether it was justified or not was the question.

  “Anna, even if you suspected your boyfriend of murder and didn’t come forward, you were young and in love. It’s time you forgive yourself.”

  “I want to,” she said. “But it’s hard.”

  Mona patted her hand gently. “Is there another reason you feel guilty? Did you suspect someone else of the murders? Maybe another teenage friend?”

  “No, it wasn’t like that.”

  “What about your father? Did he have any other suspects?”

  “No, I don’t think so.” Anna stood, her agitation mounting. “Thank you for listening, Ms. Monroe, but I have to go.”

  She practically sprinted out the door, leaving an air of secrecy and fear behind her.

  What was Anna afraid of?

  Mona stewed over the possibilities while she saw her next few clients.

  She finished her paperwork, then realized it was time for her radio show, so she grabbed her coat and gloves and rushed outside to her car. Ten minutes later, she hurried into the radio station.

  Chance looked different tonight, she thought, as she took her place at the mic. A scowl pulled at his face, and he was on the phone, his voice terse. When he saw her, he averted his eyes and covered the phone with his hand so she couldn’t hear his conversation.

  He quickly hung up, then started the segment and patched the first caller through.

  The first five callers wanted to discuss the murders in town. The women were panicked, the men angry that their loved ones w
ere in danger.

  Mona had no answers, but she tried to reassure them that the police were doing everything they could to catch the Bride Killer.

  “Why would the killer dress the girls in wedding gowns?” an elderly woman named Henrietta said. “That’s just sick.”

  “I don’t want to speculate on air.” Mona pressed two fingers to her temple. A headache was beginning to pulse, her nerves fraying. She understood the panic.

  “It’s just like before,” the next caller commented. “All the young women in town afraid to go outside. Looking at everyone they meet, even the ones they know, like they’re the killer.”

  No wonder Anna had left Graveyard Falls years ago. It was hard to escape the gossip and accusing eyes in a town where everyone knew your business.

  When she answered the next call, there was silence for a moment. Then a heavy breath.

  “Hello, this is Mona, what’s on your mind tonight?”

  “You were supposed to help me, but you don’t help anyone. Tell them to stop saying bad things about me.”

  Mona looked up at Chance to see if he was paying attention, and his eyes darkened with worry. She tried to comfort herself with the fact that the call was being traced.

  She just needed to keep the man on the line. And maybe figure out if he was Doyle William Yonkers.

  “Tell them to stop saying what?”

  “That I’m sick,” he said. “All I want is someone to love me, to have a family. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

  Keep him talking. “We all start out with a family,” Mona said, improvising. “What happened to yours?”

  A sound like a cry echoed over the line. Then he cleared his throat. “My mama’s sick. I wanted to give her grandbabies before she died.”

  Mona’s pulse clamored. Yonkers had made a similar comment.

  “Is there something I can do to help your mother?” Mona asked. “Does she need medical care?”

  Another sob. “I take care of her,” he said. “But I don’t want to talk about her.”

  Yonkers had said he took care of his mother, too.

  Was Will Candy’s brother?

  Did he already have his next victim picked out?

  “Then what do you want to talk about? The women who let you down?”

  A tense moment. “It’s your fault the girls had to die.”

  She started to respond, but the line went dead. His last words disturbed her.

  Tears of helplessness, anger, and fear blurred her vision, and Mona decided she’d taken all the calls she could for the day. She motioned to Chance that she had to end the show.

  She wanted to go home and forget the horror in the town.

  “Are you all right?” Chance asked as she grabbed her coat and gloves.

  “Yes.” Her voice cracked on the word, and she dashed out the door. She’d call Cal as soon as she got in the car.

  Maybe he could trace the call back to Yonkers, and if he was the killer, he could pick him up before he hurt anyone else.

  Fresh snowflakes blinded her, and she pressed the keypad to unlock her car as she neared it. The lights flickered on, but a noise behind her startled her, and she jerked her head around.

  A shadow jumped her from behind. She struggled, but she inhaled the strong scent of chemicals, her eyes blurred, and the world spun into darkness.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Cal scanned the parking lot near Carol’s car for evidence of an attack. He found a silver loop earring on the pavement by her door. She must have lost it when the killer abducted her.

  He checked the car door, but it was locked, so he pulled a tool from the Jeep and used it to open the door. Inside, the car was fairly clean. A leather jacket lay on the backseat, and a stack of blank notepads was jammed in a plastic bin. He found a folder and removed it, then thumbed through the contents.

  Several articles about the Thorn Ripper.

  He popped the trunk. Inside lay a pair of snow boots and another coat, then Carol’s laptop.

  Adrenaline pumped through him.

  He checked the time as he hurried back to the Jeep. Mona’s show would be over by now. Worry for her made him reach for the phone.

  He punched her cell number, but the phone rang and rang. He tried her home number and the voice mail kicked in. Nerves on edge, he called the radio station.

  No answer there either.

  Dammit. Where was she?

  His phone buzzed, and he checked the ID, praying it was Mona. Deputy Kimball instead. “Yeah?”

  “I found that white van that ran you and Ms. Monroe off the road.”

  “Where is it?”

  “It went over the side of the mountain. A sightseer spotted it when he and his wife stopped at the overhang to look at the view.”

  Shit. “Get a crew there to go down and examine it. Let me know what they find. I need the name of the owner.”

  “I’m on it.” The line clicked to silence just as a text dinged from Agent Hamrick.

  Yonkers visited graveyard where his sister is buried. I’m on his tail.

  Maybe he’d make a mistake and they’d catch him doing something incriminating.

  Cal punched Peyton’s number. “Find everything you can on Carol Little. I have her laptop and need her password.”

  “Copy that.” Peyton ended the call, and Cal decided to check the radio station for Mona.

  Mona twisted and turned in the darkness, terrified when she realized she was in a trunk. Her head throbbed from whatever her abductor had used to knock her out and her mouth felt like cotton. She racked her brain to remember what had happened—one minute she’d been talking to that disturbing caller and he’d blamed her for the young women’s deaths, then she’d hurried to her car and someone had attacked her.

  Could it have been Will? Had he phoned from the parking lot at the station? He might have been waiting for her to leave and she’d been in such a hurry and so upset that she hadn’t paid attention to her surroundings.

  Her stomach roiled as the vehicle jerked to the right and screeched to a stop. She twisted her hands, trying to untie them, but they were bound too tightly. So were her feet. And he’d gagged her mouth.

  Terror shot through her as the trunk opened.

  The counseling session with Mona confused Sylvia. She wasn’t what she’d expected. Not a slutty woman who’d tricked Brent into marriage. Instead, she’d seemed . . . kind. Sympathetic. She’d certainly understood her grief and seemed like she genuinely cared about her.

  Although her brother didn’t believe it.

  She was trembling after talking to him. Dear God, he sounded mad . . . as if he’d lost all touch with reality.

  He’d always been protective of her.

  And he loved her baby and hated that she was raising him alone.

  But she’d never thought he would do anything about it . . .

  Although their phone conversation scared her. He’d talked about Mona as if he might hurt her.

  She tried phoning him again, but he didn’t answer. “Please call me back. We need to talk.” Her heart tripped overtime as she drove to his cabin in the mountains.

  She buttoned her coat, threw her scarf around her neck, climbed out, and slogged through the slush to the porch. Debris from the trees pelted her as the wind shook it down. She knocked and called her brother’s name, but no answer.

  Was her mother here? She didn’t want to see her.

  But she had to talk to her brother.

  Heart pounding, she eased open the door. A fire burned low in the fireplace, but the den was empty. She tiptoed across the den and looked inside her brother’s room.

  He wasn’t there.

  Her breath caught at the sight of his desk. Articles about the recent murders in Graveyard Falls covered it, along with photographs of each of the vi
ctims. A picture of the reporter Carol Little and the article she’d written about the Bride Killer was also there.

  The other pictures disturbed her even more . . . candid shots of Mona at her home, at the radio station, at her office . . . one of Mona wearing a wedding dress that he must have used some computer program to create.

  Sylvia grabbed the edge of the desk to keep from collapsing in horror.

  Cal screeched up to the radio station, frantic to find Mona and make sure she was safe. Her car was in the parking lot. A good sign.

  But there were no other cars around.

  Praying she was still inside, he jogged up to the station but it was locked.

  Heart racing, he pounded on the door and yelled Mona’s name. “Mona, if you’re in there, open up!”

  Nothing.

  Stomach knotting, he ran to the windows and peered inside. No lights. Nothing moving. No one inside.

  But her car was still here . . .

  He ran over to it and looked in the interior. It was locked. He shined his flashlight through the window and saw nothing amiss. No phone or purse.

  So where the hell was she?

  Fear clogged his throat, and he sprinted back to his Jeep, hightailed it from the parking lot, and sped toward Mona’s house. Maybe she’d had car trouble and Chance had given her a ride home.

  Five minutes later, he barreled down her street, his tires churning on the ice. As soon as he cut the engine, he ran to the front door and banged on it. The lights were off, too, and when he looked in the windows, he didn’t see anyone inside.

  His phone buzzed, and he yanked it from his pocket. He didn’t recognize the number, but he’d asked the police station to direct important calls about the case to his cell. “Agent Coulter.”

  “Agent Coulter, my name is Sylvia Wales. I . . . I might know who the Bride Killer is. I think he took Mona Monroe.”

  Sylvia Wales—that was the name of the woman whose prints they’d found at Mona’s.

  Cal closed his eyes, battling terror. “Who is he and where would he take her?”

  “He’s my brother,” Sylvia said, her voice cracking. “I’m at his cabin and I found pictures of the dead girls and that reporter. And of Mona Monroe.”