by Rita Herron
A large brown book was open, sketches of ancient tombstones on the pages. Another book on the table held a collection of photographs of mausoleums. Another depicted ancient religious symbols associated with death.
She gestured toward a volume on angels. “You didn’t mention your interest in this when we found that grave marker today.”
His already serious eyes darkened, and he glanced down at his scarred thumbs. “I’ve had those books for years, but barely looked at them. Finding the grave made me remember them. Someone gave them to me.”
Ellie raised a brow. “Family?”
He shrugged but didn’t respond.
Ellie’s pulse clamored as something fell from his pocket. At the sight of the object, she swallowed back a gasp. Not a wooden doll, but a crudely carved angel.
“You carve, too?” she said in a raw whisper.
A strained minute passed. His breath wheezed in the air. “A little.” Curling his fingers around the angel, he tucked it in his palm. “Is that why you’re here, Ellie?” A tinge of venom laced his voice, anger she’d sensed lay just below the surface. “You think I made those little dolls and killed those girls?”
Ellie’s emotions pinged all over the place. “I… no. But I do have some questions.” She struggled to regain her composure. She didn’t want to be afraid of Cord. Once she’d thought they were friends. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d worked on three of the other missing children’s cases? Little girls about the same age as Penny?”
Heat flared in his eyes. “It was a while back. I didn’t think it mattered.”
Ellie frowned. She didn’t quite believe him. “Every detail in a homicide investigation matters. Those cases might be connected to Penny’s disappearance.”
Cord walked over to the bar in the corner of the room, set the angel figurine on it, and poured himself a whiskey. He offered one to her with a gesture, but she declined. With her nerves already frayed, booze and Cord might play havoc with her common sense.
“You think the body we found today has something to do with Penny and with this Fox guy’s sister?”
“I do. There are more, Cord,” she said softly. “And if we don’t stop this madman, Penny might not be the last. So, if you’re withholding information, please tell me.”
He swirled the whiskey in his glass. “If you want to know about the angel carving, the angel represents innocence, purity.”
Like the little girls. “Was there anything you saw, or someone you suspected in those other cases? Someone who was at all the crime scenes?”
A bitter look slashed his angular face. “You mean other than me?”
She released a weary breath. “I’m just searching for the truth. Cord. I want to find Penny,” she said softly.
“I get it now. Because I worked the rescues, that fed has filled your ears with doubts about me, hasn’t he?”
“This has nothing to do with him,” Ellie said, sweat beading on her forehead. “When I asked you about your past, you shut down. I know you have secrets, things you don’t want to talk about. And all those books there, and the taxidermy, and you practically live in the dark. It’s disturbing, Cord.”
His eyes narrowed to slits. “You’re one to talk. You have secrets, too.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your childhood. Your fear of the dark.”
Ellie licked her dry lips. “How do you know about that?”
“You told me. Don’t you remember waking up screaming the night you stayed here, then you jumped up and turned all the lights on? You yelled out for someone named Mae, but when I asked you about her, you ran onto the deck.”
Humiliation washed over her. She’d never told anyone about Mae and her therapy sessions. Didn’t want people to look at her like they did Ms. Eula.
Cord’s hand tightened around his glass. “If you don’t trust me by now, El, then get the hell out.”
Razor-like tension stretched between them. Cord didn’t speak again. He walked to the sliding glass doors leading to his back deck, stepped outside with his drink, and left Ellie standing there alone.
Was he challenging her? I’ll share my secrets if you share yours?
That was not going to happen today.
She had come for answers. Hoped he’d confide in her. Instead, he’d turned the tables on her, then ordered her to leave.
Fuming and confused, she spun around and strode through the front door. The wind rattled leaves and shook the trees, then the dark clouds above boomed with thunder, and began to unleash their fury, rain turning to sleet.
She dove inside her SUV and sat inside with the wipers working to clear the windshield. She’d thought she and Cord were friends.
But she’d been wrong.
Like it or not, she would find out what he was hiding from her. Then she’d know if she could trust him. Or if he’d been lying to her all along.
48.
Somewhere on the AT
Penny shivered and drew her knees up to her chest, then chewed on her fingernails to keep from crying again.
He didn’t like it when she cried.
But it was getting harder and harder. She missed her warm bed. Her pink comforter. Her sheets with the little pink flowers on them.
And Toby. Her plush, squishy sweet yellow teddy bear. At night he kept her safe. She whispered to him when she was afraid. Told him all her secrets.
The little wooden dolls were not the same. They were slick and hard, not soft and cuddly. They didn’t have real eyes or smiles. Toby’s big button eyes looked at her like he loved her back. And she liked to rub his fluffy ears when falling asleep. When she rubbed one of the little dolls, a splinter pricked her finger.
The mean man reminded her of a Big Foot like she’d seen in the scary movies her friend’s brother liked to watch. With one hairy arm, he dropped a pile of sticks in front of her. “Here, build a dollhouse with these.”
She kicked at the pile of twigs as he shuffled from the creepy black space. She didn’t want to build a dollhouse. Or play with the stupid dolls.
She wanted to go home and sleep with Toby and her princess pillow and listen to her mommy sing to her while she fell asleep.
49.
Crooked Creek
On her drive back to her bungalow, Ellie tuned into the news, anything to drown out the voice in her head whispering that Cord might have a sinister side to him.
Or that he knew more than he was saying about the disappearance of the little girls.
“In spite of Tempest expected to blow in late tomorrow, Mayor Waters has announced that the Cornbread Festival will proceed with its annual parade and festivities,” the radio announcer said. “Although due to heavy winds and freezing temperatures, many of the activities will be held indoors. Check our website for details to follow.”
Ellie rolled her eyes. How could people possibly celebrate when they hadn’t found Penny?
Battling her own fear as sleet drizzled down, she parked and battled the elements as she hurried up her porch steps. Just as she reached for the doorknob, her foot hit something on the mat. Cursing herself for forgetting to leave her outside light on, she used her phone flashlight and discovered a small carved wooden box with a thin piece of rope tied around it.
A chill slithered through her, and she startled at the sound of brush crackling and tree limbs groaning. Pulling her gun, she gripped it and spun in a wide arc, surveying her property for whoever had left the box. Shadows moved and danced as the trees bowed against the force of the wind. The sleet was falling faster now, thicker, the pellets almost bullet sized.
If someone was out there, he’d disappeared into the thick foliage. Suddenly freezing and desperate for the warmth of her home, she unlocked the door, picked up the box in her coatsleeve and carried it inside, flipping on lights as she went.
Keeping her gun at the ready, she placed the box on the kitchen table, then quickly moved from one room to the next, searching. After clearing the house, she returned to the kit
chen, lay her weapon on the table, then yanked on latex gloves.
Fear pressing against her chest, she held it to her ear and listened. Nothing. Carefully, she examined the box, but there was no card indicating who’d left it.
Growing more uneasy with every second, she slowly untied the cord, then lifted the lid, trembling when she saw the contents.
Three tiny wooden dolls, just like the one she’d found in the grave, lay in the middle of the box on a piece of red velvet cloth.
50.
Somewhere on the AT
Even through the deluge of ice and snow, the Watcher had been hunting bones all night. Once he’d stumbled on the first set, he’d found four other bodies nearby in the brush. All discarded, as if the little ones were nothing.
But they meant everything to the families who’d lost them.
Everything.
Their suffering drove him to scavenge the forest in search of other innocents taken before their time.
The SAR team had found the first grave. He’d stood on a ridge, perched beneath the awning of the cypress and oak trees, taking cover from the storm as he waited. Thankfully, they’d found her.
Now they could take her home so her family could honor her in death.
Although the fear of not knowing what had happened to their daughters would be replaced by the reality that they’d been murdered and left for the animals to ravage.
He’d carefully found a resting place for three sets of the bones and gently laid them in the ground. Another gravestone and cross for the precious angels, a temporary placeholder until they received a proper burial with prayers and gospel hymns and their families there to mourn.
He came across a bear print, and the thought of the animal roaming through the woods, its teeth gnashing, big paws smashing brush and the forest floor, made his pulse quicken. He had to hurry. Didn’t want to tangle with the big black animal.
Or let it destroy the bones.
He listened, trying to work out if the bear was still nearby. Nothing.
Still, the roaring wind carried voices. More SAR workers.
He couldn’t let them find him. Or know what he’d done.
Gripping the bag of bones over his shoulder, he stealthily moved in the opposite direction, fighting exhaustion. He’d barely slept in two days.
Icy rain thrashed through the trees, the cold pellets pummeling him, sharp and slick as the river stones. He pulled his hood over his head and wove around a bend, searching for a holler to take shelter in. The damp slushy ground felt like quicksand, but he picked up his pace. The storm would slow the SAR workers down.
But not him.
The trail was his home. It could be bitter. The wind freezing cold. The terrain unforgiving.
But he welcomed the pain. It was the only thing that made him feel alive.
Until he’d found the bones and buried them.
Uncovering the girls’ remains had finally given him purpose.
51.
Crooked Creek
The dolls stared up at Ellie with sightless eyes. Their stiff wooden bodies were unbendable, the shapes of the mouths macabre, like wooden puppets. Tiny indentations that resembled tears trailed down the dolls’ cheeks.
Cold fear gripped her. The box was their coffin.
Was the number three significant? Did that mean he planned to take three more victims?
Shaking all over, she rushed to the bathroom and ripped open the medicine cabinet. The anxiety medication sat waiting. One pill, two, could calm her nerves.
But… no buts. If she succumbed to her need for medication, she’d become dependent on the pills again. Sure, they’d calm her anxiety. But her mind would blur, become foggy. And she’d sleep like the dead.
She didn’t have time for that. She had to focus.
This sadistic son of a bitch had to be stopped.
He was toying with her. Taunting her. Playing a game.
Rage festered inside her at the idea of him using the children in his demented plans.
She slammed the cabinet door shut and returned to the kitchen. The dolls and that box needed to go to the lab. Not that she expected to find DNA on it, but maybe a partial print?
Her hands shook as she stored the box inside a bag. First thing in the morning, she’d send it to forensics.
Pouring herself a vodka, she phoned Derrick, breathing out a sigh when she heard his gruff voice.
“The killer was here.” She swirled the clear liquid in her glass, inhaling the crisp citrus scent. “At my place.”
Tension reverberated over the line. “What? When?”
“I don’t know. But he left me a present. Three of those little wooden dolls in a box.” She swallowed hard. “It’s a message, Derrick.”
“I’ll be right over.”
“No,” she said a little too quickly. She didn’t want him to see her fear. She had to be strong.
“Don’t be stubborn.” Impatience tinged his voice. “He may have left evidence.”
She dropped her head into her hands. “I’ll look around.”
“Not alone,” he said gruffly. “He knows where you live, and he’s been there. He could be outside hiding, waiting to ambush you.”
If he’d wanted to hurt her tonight, he could have done so when she’d found the dolls.
“I’m at the inn in town. I’ll be there ASAP.”
Realizing the futility in arguing, she texted him the address and hung up. While she waited, she walked to the French doors in back and looked into the woods. Like stepping stones, the ridges were stacked, rising toward the sky and jutting above the deep hollows. Grainy clouds scudded across the tops of the peaks, the natural corridors filled with dogwoods, elms, hemlocks, balsam firs and red spruces.
Was he there now? Watching and laughing?
The rustle of snowy limbs catapulted her back in time.
She was running and playing hide and seek with Mae while her father pitched the tent by the creek.
As night fell and the moon glowed like a giant orange ball in the inky sky, she and Mae had chased fireflies into the woods. They’d lined up the rocks in the shape of a heart and drawn their names with sticks.
She pounded her head with her fist.
Stop thinking about Mae. Penny needs you to be strong.
A knock jerked her back to the present, then Derrick’s voice. Struggling to remain calm, she let him in. His face turned ashen at the sight of the wooden box.
“The unsub built a fucking coffin,” Derrick muttered.
She nodded, her emotions ping-ponging between outrage and fear, and anger at herself that he’d outsmarted her.
For a moment, their gazes locked. Seeing Ellie tremble, he reached out and pulled her to him. For the briefest of seconds, she allowed him to hold her. She was shaking harder than she ever had in her life. Even more than the dreadful night she’d spent alone and lost in the woods as a child.
“We’ll find him,” Derrick murmured.
She nodded against him, grateful for his warmth. She hadn’t realized how cold she was until she felt his body next to hers, his arms around her.
A second later, they both pulled away. Derrick glanced back at the box, then yanked a flashlight from inside his jacket. “I’m going to search outside. Maybe he left footprints or something behind.”
Ellie doubted it. This man had evaded police for over twenty years. He hadn’t been caught because he was smart.
The only thing he’d left behind was what he’d wanted her to find.
52.
Day 3 Missing
March 3, 12:10 a.m., Somewhere on the AT
After leaving Ellie the dolls, he’d hurried back to Penny. Couldn’t let anyone find her until he was ready. She’d cried all day, begged him to let her go. She didn’t want the dolls. She wanted her mommy.
An idea stole through his mind though as he’d ventured into town. In spite of the sick-ass storm careening toward the mountains, tourists had flocked in like birds flying South for the winter.
All for that stupid Cornbread Festival.
A smile teased at his lips, and he yanked his ski cap tight over his ears. There were all kinds of strangers in Bluff County now. Families with kids.
Pretty little girls for the taking.
Maybe he’d get a playmate for Penny.
“Hush little baby, don’t say a word, Mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird…”
Hating the lullaby that chimed in his ears like a broken record, he pressed his fist to his mouth to stop the hideous words from coming out. That song… one of his foster mothers used to sing it to the new little girl who’d come to live with them. She’d petted her and rocked her when she cried and planted sweet kisses on her forehead as she cradled her close like she was her own child.
But when he’d cried, she’d hit him and yelled, “Hush. Big boys don’t cry.”
But he had cried. And it had been bad.
Now it was bad for the little girls.
53.
Not knowing how long they’d be on the trail, Ellie had packed her backpack with enough supplies to last through the day and into the night. If there was one more grave, there might be another.
She wouldn’t rest until she found them all. And hopefully they might lead to a clue as to where Penny was.
After searching the outside of her house and finding a partial footprint, Derrick had taken photos and sent them to his partner, then he’d slept on her couch. She’d balked at first, but he insisted on staying in case the killer returned.
Truthfully, she probably wouldn’t have slept at all if he hadn’t. But she’d never admit it. Anxious to get to work, he’d left at dawn to shower and prepare for the hike, and they were meeting at the police station.
