Doug put his hand on his wife’s wrist. “You know, Phyllis, Josh is right. It’s one thing to avoid the topic entirely but if a conversation helps figure out who’s responsible for sending Skye that box of bones, and ultimately finding out the identity of the victim, then so be it.”
Chastised, Phyllis glanced at her husband, her son, at Travis and finally her eyes settled on Skye. “I can’t imagine what you went through as a child.” Her voice faltered, flattened. “I don’t know how you ever get over something like that. But to think you’ve gone on to do incredibly brave things for victims… I admire what it is you do. You know I support your efforts.”
Skye smiled and reached across the table, squeezed Phyllis’s hand. “I know that. I also know that just because you feel that way doesn’t give me the right to discuss such things at dinner. I forget sometimes that most people aren’t geared to hearing about society’s dregs or the horrors they bring to people. Not everyone needs to have it shoved in their face over a meal.”
Determined to change the subject and put her guests more at ease, Skye turned to Travis. “How’s that roast?”
Travis’s eyes met his daughter’s. Understanding his role in getting the subject turned to a more favorable topic, he replied, “It’s delicious. I never would have thought putting pineapple on top of a pork roast could be so flavorful.”
“Stop that,” Phyllis finally said. “It’s okay. You don’t have to make small talk on my account. My son and I often don’t see eye to eye on things and tonight is no exception. Although I do think he could’ve set me straight in a less overt way.”
“I suppose I should have. Those bones got to me, got to Skye,” Josh admitted. “I apologize.”
Phyllis tilted her head, stared into the eyes of her son. “You’ve changed these past months. At first I attributed that to finding new love. Now, I’m not so certain.”
Josh sipped his wine again, picked up his wife’s hand. “I’m learning there’s magic in finding the right woman.”
“I can attest to that,” Doug agreed. “But I wouldn’t mind getting back to this serial killer thing.” He ignored the look of disgust from his wife. “What kind of guy boxes up bones from his victim and sends them through the mail?”
“One who wants attention. Badly,” Skye offered. “He’s tired of being ignored. He wants an adversary so that he can show off his kills.”
“Exactly,” Josh stated.
“But why Skye? Why not just contact the cops? Why get you involved at all?” Travis wondered. “There’s no excuse for that. I know you made headlines taking down Frank De Palo but that doesn’t explain why this man has picked you to reach out to. I don’t like it.”
Skye looked sideways at her father. “For one thing, I’m female. He probably sees me as an inferior opponent. Add to that, I’m getting more press than he is. Someone with his ego doesn’t like that.”
“I’m impressed with that assessment,” Doug added as he speared another tasty bite of meat. “She’s good.”
“Thank you. But don’t be so impressed. I’ve spent years studying this type of human behavior. This package is only the tip of the iceberg. There’ll be others.”
“Other packages?” Travis asked, clearly upset. “You’re saying this monster will continue to contact you? I don’t like it,” Travis said again. “I want this guy caught.”
This time Skye smiled at him. They were just getting used to feeling more at ease with each other. She liked this overprotective side to him—most times. “We’ll see what we can do about making your wish come true.”
About that time the buzzer sounded from downstairs. Josh got up, went to the control panel to press the button. “Yes?”
“Mr. Ander, this is Selma Tolliver in five-forty-four. I was headed out for the evening and noticed someone had left a package by the front door addressed to Skye Cree. I’m sure they meant to put her married name on the address.”
But Josh thought otherwise. “Thanks, Mrs. Tolliver, I’ll be down to pick it up.” He turned to look at his wife. “Call Harry.”
“But it might be nothing more than a wedding gift, Josh,” Skye reasoned. “Calling Harry if someone boxed up a blender hardly seems reasonable to me.”
“I don’t think it’s a blender, Skye. Call Harry,” Josh repeated, hitting the button on the loft’s private elevator to head down.
“Okay, but I’m coming with you.”
“Then let’s go,” Josh said, sending a quick wave to his parents, to Travis, before hopping on the elevator. “We’ll be back. Don’t move. Keep eating. Give us twenty minutes.”
When they got to the lobby, Selma greeted them with a big smile. Without warning the attractive dark-haired tenant shoved the parcel into Skye’s hands.
“My date’s waiting in the car outside. I could’ve just left the gift on the hall table there where you’d likely see it, but I wanted to take this opportunity to tell you both congratulations. I’m so glad Josh found someone special. I’ve heard all about you, Skye. You’re our local crime fighter, but still such a regular-type person. And now you live in my building!” Selma declared, leaning in so she could give Skye a quick hug, again without much notice. “You keep up the good work.”
Before Skye could do any more than hug the woman back, Selma dashed out the door.
Josh gave Skye a twisted smile, cocked a brow. “Selma’s obviously a big fan.”
“Oh, shut up. Where do we do this? I’m not sure your mother could handle seeing a set of bones crammed into another box.” She eyed the package she held—much smaller than the one that had arrived at the office earlier, and added, “Let’s hope this is an omelet pan. We could use one.”
“We can hope.” He took the carton out of Skye’s hands, flipped it to read their address. It had been handwritten in blue ink. He looked around the lobby, decided on the mahogany sofa table. “What about here?”
“Fine. I opened the first, how about you open this one?”
“Sure. Let’s see what we’ve got.” He took out a pocket knife, ripped open the tape, pulled back the flaps. This time the note rested on top. It was a couple of lines, much shorter than the first.
I thought you were the best. That’s what they said on the news. They were wrong. You missed my message. It was so obvious. How could you have missed it? And they said you were the best. I’m so disappointed.
“What’s he talking about? We got his message, loud and clear, read it over several times,” Josh pointed out.
“Maybe the note isn’t it. Maybe there’s a clue in that newspaper. I didn’t even think to read it all the way through. You know, peruse the personals.”
“The personals? Could that be it?”
Skye started to pace, nibbling on her thumbnail. “I don’t know, Josh. If it isn’t that then there’s something else, something I missed entirely.”
“Skye, the only things in that box were the bones, the note, and the newspaper. Harry has the evidence. The coroner has the bones. If the medical examiner had come up with anything else, Harry would’ve told you by now.”
She shook her head. “Maybe, maybe not. What if Bayliss didn’t get to it yet? What if the bones are still just sitting there waiting for tomorrow’s time in the queue? Besides, how did this guy know I didn’t find his message? How did he know to send me a follow-up package already?”
Skye surveyed the outside of the box. “And there’s no postage on this, Josh. Someone delivered this within the hour. Personally. Otherwise, Travis or your parents would’ve noticed it when they got here. I’m afraid to ask, but, what’s underneath the note this time?” She looked in, sucked in a breath. A mummified hand stared back at her. Each nail still bore a faint trace of pink polish. “This guy’s sick.”
At that moment, her cell phone dinged, signaling Harry had returned her call. “I got another package. This time at home.” Without bothering with a greeting, Skye gave Harry the lowdown. She went on to explain the note and the hand. “Is there any way you can get u
s inside the coroner’s office?”
“Right this minute? Not a chance. And you know that’s highly irregular. The box of bones is scheduled for Bayliss tomorrow. And you know he’s difficult enough to deal with as it is without asking for favors.”
“Yeah? Well so is a crazy bastard who claims to be a serial killer and gets his jollies by cutting off body parts.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll find a way. I’m coming for that box, Skye. Give me thirty minutes.”
“Fine. But whatever you have to do, get us inside the coroner’s office. We need to reexamine that box, those bones, for ourselves in case we missed anything. And Harry?”
“Yeah?”
“You need to get a court order so you can go through surveillance tapes for the building just in case he delivered this package personally.”
“Hey, who’s the cop here? I’m on it,” Harry griped. “But surely you don’t think he’d be that stupid, do you?”
“You never know. After all, he’s the one who started this thing. Stupid? I don’t think he’s that, but he does want attention.”
After she ended the call, Josh took her chin. “You didn’t miss anything, Skye.”
“We’ll see,” Skye muttered as she stared down at the mummified hand, studied it closer in greater detail. “Harry’ll be here soon to collect the box. By any chance are you picking up anything from this?”
“I don’t think this hand belongs to the bones that showed up this morning.”
Skye rocked back on her heels, nodded in agreement. “I was afraid of that. But right now, we’re in a holding pattern until the medical examiner makes his determination, which if we’re lucky we’ll get to be a part of. But right this minute, we need to get back to our guests. I’m not letting this asshole ruin what’s left of our evening, especially the dinner I slaved over any more than he already has.”
“Then we’ll wait for Harry and get back to them soon.”
But it took longer than they’d planned for Harry to drive across town and take possession of the box. By the time they got back upstairs the food was cold and it didn’t take long for the obvious questions to start. Was it from the killer? What was in the package? How did the person know where you lived?
Travis pressed her for more details which Skye managed to sidestep during the rest of the meal. But with dinner over, Travis followed her into the kitchen where the talk turned to warnings and cautionary tactics.
“This is tantamount to invading your personal space. You said this asshole would send another package which means his ramping up is just getting started. Now that he’s made contact, he’ll keep up the full court press until he shows up. Do you plan to live here or look for another house? I thought you guys wanted a nice place out of Seattle. Now might be the perfect time to move. This guy obviously knows where you live now.”
“Settle down. Take a breath for God’s sake. The loft is easy enough to find. I’m not hiding or moving just because some nutcase decides to send me notes. We don’t even know yet if those bones are the real deal.”
But Travis wasn’t that naïve. He didn’t buy her bravado or defiance. “What exactly was in that package downstairs?”
She could see the determination in his eyes, so there was no point in evasion or trying to bluff. She let out a sigh. “A mummified hand, complete with pink nail polish.”
Travis ran a hand through his hair about the time Josh came through the swinging door carrying more plates. “So we have a killer who dismembers?” He aimed his frustration at Josh. “What exactly do you intend to do about this?”
“Ah, so you’ve heard about his latest offering,” Josh assessed. “I won’t let the bastard anywhere near Skye, if that’s what you mean.”
“It wouldn’t hurt to take Skye house-hunting this weekend,” Travis suggested.
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Josh said, sarcasm dripping from his tone. “Since we’ve been back a full day I’ll get right on that.” He slapped Travis on the back. “Seriously though, after what happened downstairs, finding a place in the country sounds ideal. The glut in the housing market right now might make it the best time to look.”
“You’re both overreacting,” Skye stated, annoyed with both of them.
“Don’t tell me you aren’t concerned about this guy, Skye,” Travis tossed back. “You certainly know better than to underestimate an adversary like this one.”
“I’d be an idiot to take this guy lightly on many levels. So yes, I take him seriously. I’m on the receiving end of his depravity. His sending me remains in a box twice in one day—delivered to my home no less—creeps me out. It implies a disturbed individual, perhaps even one harboring some sort of deep psychosis. I know that.”
“I rest my case,” Travis concluded. “Promise me you’ll think about getting out of the city, out of this loft and get a new place of residence, the sooner the better.”
“You forget the city is my hunting ground. Always has been.”
“But perverts don’t limit themselves to a specific area, Skye,” Josh reasoned. “This guy could very well have set up shop to work in the pristine countryside. For years.”
“That’s my point,” Skye shot back, glaring at Travis. “That’s why I’m not running off to live life as a Martha Stewart clone in some remote part of the Northwest to sit around waiting for seeds to sprout. My life is here.” She wheeled around to Josh. “You know that’s true. My heart is here.”
Josh took her hand. “I’m beginning to see that. Let’s slow down a minute. We’ll take the path that works the best for both of us. It won’t hurt to look. When it comes to a new place, no one’s suggesting you give up the hunt. Compromise is the key.”
After their guests left, Skye changed clothes and noted the time on the clock. Turning to Josh, she said, “You look tired. Why don’t you sit this one out?”
Josh perused his wife up and down. Dressed in black and leather, she looked like a fierce warrior prepared to do battle at a moment’s notice. All she needed to complete the image was a weapon, maybe a shiny, steel sword she could brandish in a fight. He supposed it was the gamer in him that saw her as a skilled combatant.
She carried no gun, but kept a nightstick hidden under her long coat along with a knife and another blade tucked inside her boot just in case.
There was no doubt in his mind she could take care of herself or handle a tough situation. She’d proved herself time and time again. But every now and then a guy had to remind her they were a team. “We’ve been all through this before. I’m not letting you go out on the streets alone. Besides, you’re out of practice.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I most certainly am not.”
“You haven’t walked Seattle’s streets in over two weeks,” Josh pointed out in challenge. “Eighteen days to be exact. Last time you went out you had a wedding on your mind. You’re rusty.”
Skye rolled her eyes, knowing exactly what he was doing. She shook her head. What was the point in arguing back and forth when she’d just end up giving in anyway? “Okay, okay, but if you’re going with me, move your ass. The clock’s ticking and neither one of us is getting any younger.”
He bumped her shoulder. “That’s what I like to hear. Compromise. That’s what a good team does,” he said by way of a too familiar refrain.
“This team could use a little less jawing and a lot more moving. You change clothes while I go make sandwiches.”
“Sandwiches? No thanks, I’m still full from dinner.”
She cast him a long glance, narrowed her gaze. Sometimes his naivety reared its ugly head and surprised her. Now was one of those times. “You want information from people living on the street, you offer something in exchange. It’s either money or something to fill their hungry bellies.”
“Ah, sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
“It’s okay. It’s hard to imagine sleeping in a doorway when you’ve got a comfy bed each night. People tend to forget not everyone is as fortunate.”
Thirty minu
tes later, after stuffing baloney and cheese sandwiches and all the apples they had on hand into a backpack, they headed out the door. As they walked toward Atlanta Street and Fulton Avenue, Josh turned to his new bride, noted her calm demeanor. “The wolf is ever patient and always on the hunt.”
“Poet and philosopher, I married a man who does both with equal ease, I think.” Now was the perfect time to tell him about the missing teen, Shawna Langley. She hit the highs and lows, went back over the conversation with Karen Houston.
“So we’re on a mission tonight?”
“We’re always on a mission. Shawna’s the latest one. Her mother dropped by this afternoon after our phone conversation to give me Shawna’s most recent school picture and some leftover flyers she had printed up. Tonight we’re going to ask around about Shawna, hand out a little food, and hopefully get a few answers in the process.”
They drifted past a rundown motel, long abandoned, its architecture unremarkable, its roof used by advertisers to hold their billboards. “You know, I was thinking. What if we took a piece of property like this and remodeled it to give some of these homeless families a chance at a new start?”
Skye stopped walking and turned to stare at Josh. “What? How would building another homeless shelter help?”
“It wouldn’t really be a shelter. Not as I see it anyway, but more like individual little studio apartments, complete with a small kitchen, a bed, a bathroom, enough to feel like they have something.”
“You’re kidding? Is that even doable?” she asked, surveying the ancient building.
“I think it is. Gear it to the homeless who are trying to better themselves, or the working poor. Rent’s expensive around here. Of course, they’d have to sign an agreement stating there would be no criminal activity in their unit. And to agree in writing that if they don’t have a job, they’ll look for one, or they’d be willing to enter some type of job skill program to change directions, attend classes, and actively keep their unit up.”
Skye Cree Boxed Set Books 1 - 3 Page 57