by Rita Herron
She set the wooden box on the seat beside her, then flipped on the weather report as she drove.
“Folks, this is meteorologist Cara Soronto. Last night’s heavy thunderstorm may have passed, dumping at least two inches of rain and some sleet in the Appalachian area. But the worst is yet to come. In the next few hours, temperatures will drop at an exceedingly fast pace. By later afternoon, the mountains will be a winter wonderland. With temperatures in the single digits and wind chills below zero in the mountainous areas, it’s not safe to be on the roads or outdoors. Residents are urged to stay home and hunker down as winter storm Tempest reaches blizzard conditions.”
Ellie clenched the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip. Bitter, dangerous winds, and accumulation of snow in the mountains would make finding Penny—and the graves—difficult. Maybe impossible. If whiteout conditions occurred, they’d have to call off SAR teams or risk more lives.
Could she justify endangering others to save one little girl?
Maybe not. But she wouldn’t give up herself.
Irritated, she stabbed the radio off and sped into town.
When she arrived at the police station, Derrick was parked and waiting. Today he was dressed for what lay ahead, in a warm jacket, insulated pants, snow cap, gloves and boots. An army-green backpack was slung over his shoulder.
Shadows darkened his chocolate brown eyes, and worry lines creased his forehead. He acknowledged her with a low grunt.
Not a man of words. That was fine with her. She’d gotten too close to him the night before. It couldn’t happen again.
Gathering the box with the dolls, she went to drop it off inside. She’d already texted her captain, and he would forward it to the lab. After leaving it in his office with the paperwork for chain of custody, she hurried back outside. Derrick was waiting by her Jeep, his coat pulled up against the biting wind.
When they settled in her vehicle, he handed her a folder. “Thought you might be interested in this.”
“What is it?”
“Take a look.”
A mixture of emotions slammed into Ellie as she realized he’d run a background check on Cord.
“Did you find something gritty?” she asked, instinctively angry.
“You tell me.”
She’d considered running a background check, but she’d wanted him to come clean with her about whatever he was hiding without betraying his trust.
But he hadn’t. He’d thrown her out.
Inhaling a deep breath, she skimmed the contents. There wasn’t much about his young years, nothing about his parents or where he was born, or what had happened to them. Just that he’d been placed in the system.
Foster homes. Some were decent enough, but others were notoriously misguided, and reports of abuse abounded. Kids felt unloved and deserted. They were bounced from one home to another. Suffered from attachment disorders. Sometimes acted out their pain with aggression.
Pain wrenched her heart as she imagined Cord as a little boy hauling his belongings in a trash bag when he was shipped from one stranger’s house to another.
Some children acted out because of the system. Others got passed from home to home because of their behavior. Social workers were paid diddly squat and their heavy workloads allowed little time to make the necessary home visits and follow-ups.
The report had little specifics on the homes Cord had been shuffled to, only that there was almost a dozen by the time he was ten. God… what was it like not to have a home or a family? Had he gotten the scar on his forehead from one of the foster parents who was supposed to protect him?
Her pulse jumped as she zeroed in on number eleven. The family lived in an apartment above a mortuary. The foster father was a mortician who ran the family business. Funerals were held in the parlor downstairs, the preparation of the body in the basement.
Jesus. She’d attended enough autopsies to know that once the scent of death and the pungent pickle-like odor of formaldehyde got under your skin, it was hard to get rid of it. The process of embalming a body was gruesome, and her brain was filled with images of bloated corpses, draining blood and preparing the body for viewing.
A shiver ruffled the fine hairs on the back of Ellie’s neck. Had he witnessed the mortician at work? Watched the man stuff the nose and throat with cotton, then sew the mouth shut?
Was that where he’d gotten those books on tombstones and grave symbols?
Skimming further, she found no details on what went on in the house. Instead, the report picked up when Cord was arrested for assaulting another kid as a young teen.
Ellie jerked her head up and saw Derrick watching her.
“You didn’t know?” he asked in a gruff voice.
She shook her head. “Why are you giving this to me?”
“Because he fits the profile of our killer,” Derrick said bluntly. “And if you want to stop this madman and find Penny Matthews alive, you have to face the fact that your friend might be the monster we’re looking for.”
54.
Hemlock Holler
Ellie struggled to wrangle her troubled emotions as she parked at the entry point near Hemlock Holler. She didn’t want to believe anything bad about Cord. His history of foster care was disturbing, but it also roused sympathy in her heart for the little boy who’d been tossed around with no stable home.
A gust of wind startled her. In a few hours, three full days would have passed since Penny was last seen. Even without the bad weather, could Penny still be alive? Did she have food or water? Had her abductor already killed her?
Derrick’s voice came out hard. “Aren’t you going to say anything about Ranger McClain?”
The accusations in his eyes fired her temper. “Just because he grew up in the system and was arrested as a juvenile doesn’t make him a serial killer. A lot of foster kids, even teens who aren’t fosters, get in trouble.” She didn’t know why she was standing up for him after how he’d treated her.
“But it proves he’s prone to violence,” Derrick pointed out. “And the fact that he lived above a mortuary could mean he knows a lot about the symbols on tombstones and their meanings.”
She had seen those books… and he did have a bandage on his arm. Could he have been injured when he abducted Penny? Had she fought back?
Ellie scanned her memories of Cord. Sure, he was mysterious and brooding. Had dark secrets in his eyes. He was also stubborn. She’d seen him drive himself for days to find someone lost on the trail. He’d punished his body by hiking miles and miles with no rest, stopping at nothing to find a lost hiker.
Yet each time, just as she thought they were getting closer, becoming real friends, he disappeared without an explanation. Sometimes for days. Even a week or more.
“I know Cord,” she finally said. “Trust me, he isn’t preying on children.” Although even as she defended him, doubts crept in. She’d thought she’d known her father, too.
Derrick’s eyes blazed with suspicion. “How do I know you’re not covering for him because you’re in love with him?”
Rage bled through every cell in Ellie’s body. In love with Cord? Covering for a killer preying on little girls? “Because I want the truth, and I want to save Penny, and I have integrity.” Ellie stabbed at him with her finger. “And if you don’t trust me, then let’s split up. I don’t need you tagging along.”
She felt like she was breathing fire as she climbed from the Jeep and retrieved her pack. He followed, pulling on his own bag, his expression tight. But at least he kept his mouth shut.
Maybe she’d lose the asshole in the woods, and he could find his own damn way out. Let him have to call Cord to rescue his butt and then he’d learn what kind of man her friend––or supposed friend––was.
Pulling her personal map from her pack, she studied it, memorizing the twists and turns and ridges that lay ahead. Four miles to Hemlock Holler, where a cluster of hemlock trees conjoined in the center of a twenty-foot drop off. Local folklore claimed the holler was full
of poisonous plants and vines that curled around a person’s neck and strangled them. Some said the flowers on the ridge grew as God’s way to honor the deadly trap below.
It was an oxymoron—stunning beauty in one of the deadliest, most desolate places in the woods.
Mud and wet leaves dragged her boots down as she led the way through the winding trail. The temperature was dropping, the cold air freezing the precipitation on her cheeks into ice crystals. Wind rippled through the leaves in a ghostlike whisper, birds cawed and somewhere in the distance vultures swarmed, diving into a clearing to feast.
Derrick remained silent, close on her heels, as she slashed through the thick brush and patchy weeds, clearing a path. She climbed over rotting tree stumps and roots wound so thickly together they resembled a bed of snakes. Twigs snapped and cracked, and thin limbs that had broken off in the wind occasionally impeded their path.
The sound of her knife whacking at the overgrown brush to clear a path mingled with the sounds of raw nature. Insects buzzed and hummed, vultures grunted, frogs croaked. With gloved hands, Derrick pushed vines and brush aside and they forged on. Up hills, over steep inclines and between trees so tall and thick that it was hard to see anything beyond the trunks.
Derrick’s breathing sounded behind her, but he kept up. He was in good shape. Not that she cared, but she sure as hell didn’t want to have to haul him miles and miles in the woods if he collapsed.
She paused after mile three for water, and Derrick followed, his dark eyes searching ahead. “How much farther?”
“About a mile,” she said, then recapped her water bottle and trudged off again.
The wind grew more bitter, raging as it tore at the trees and leaves. The wildflowers dancing in the wind had savored the rain the night before, but tonight’s snow and ice would bury them beneath a blanket of white.
Ellie’s pulse quickened as she led Derrick across a narrow ledge toward the wildflowers. The rocks were loose and crumbled and scattered beneath her feet. Derrick cursed as he lost his footing. Then she heard a louder crack, and a cry.
Spinning, Ellie saw Derrick slip over the ledge, clawing at a tree root to try and stop himself going over. She shouted his name, raced to the ledge, dropped to her knees and reached for his hand. But his fingers slid through hers, and he went slipping down the slope toward the ravine.
55.
Horror seized Ellie, and time stood still. Derrick flailed, struggling to latch onto the moss-covered wall.
His fingers clawed at the damp earth, and somehow he grabbed a vine, slowing his fall. Then he dropped to a rocky ledge a good ten feet down, landing with a thud.
“Derrick?”
A tense second ticked by, and her breath stalled in her chest while she waited. Finally, he lifted his head. “Yeah.”
“Are you hurt?”
He panted for breath, then sank back against the rock and patted his arms and legs. “I don’t think so.”
“I’ll call Cord!” Ellie yelled.
“No,” Derrick shouted. “Just toss me a rope and I’ll climb back up.”
Indecision shot through Ellie. The sleet was coming down faster now, making conditions more treacherous, the icy crystals clinging to her eyelashes. “We need help,” she yelled.
“No time. Tie the rope to a tree, then throw it over.”
Jumping into action, Ellie retrieved a rope from her backpack. “All right. Hang on.”
Her heart hammered in her chest as she searched for a sturdy tree that would be strong enough to hold Derrick’s weight. The live oak was solid and thick. She tied the rope around the trunk, securing it tightly with triple knots, then stretched the rope to the ledge. It wasn’t quite long enough to reach Derrick, so she tied a second rope to the end. Thank goodness her father had taught her rope-knotting skills, or she’d be lost right now. The memory teased her conscious. He’d insisted she practice over and over and over until she got it right.
She threw the rope down to Derrick, then leaned over the edge. “Secure it around your waist before you try to climb.”
“Got it.”
She watched him wind the rope around himself. He gripped it with gloved hands, then planted one foot on the jagged wall and began the climb. He lost his footing once, and she held her breath as he recovered. The rope strained against the wind, threatening to snap, but remained secure until she helped Derrick over the edge.
He collapsed on the ground, then pushed himself up to a sitting position.
“Don’t do that to me again,” she said, hating the fear that had overcome her at the thought of him falling to his death.
“No,” he said, then looked up at her as if he was surprised she cared.
Ignoring the moment, she glanced down at the ravine again.
A tree branch snapped nearby, and was hurled to the ground beside them. They both scurried out of the way. “We need to go,” Ellie said. “The storm’s gaining strength.”
Quickly, she untied the rope from the tree while he removed it from his waist, stowing it in her backpack. After helping him up, together they battled the storm the rest of the way to the holler.
Just as she reached the crest, she peered to the left.
Another cross. Another stone marker.
“There it is!” Ellie slogged through the brush toward the grave, then knelt beside the dirt mound, her chest clenching at the sight of the purple wildflowers covering the small burial spot. Again, a simple cross marked the site along with an etching of an angel on the stone.
This time, the Roman numeral II.
Either the killer had grown tired of the game and wanted the girls to be found, or they were dealing with two different people. One, the killer. The second, someone who’d discovered the bones.
If that was the case, why not go straight to the police?
Derrick made a low sound in his throat as he gently brushed his gloved hand over the cross. The grave looked macabre in contrast to the bright purple flowers.
“Why here?”
“Locals claim the wildflowers on this ridge push through the snow and ice like one of God’s miracles, a sign of hope in the face of the evil that lives in the forest.” Which meant that the gravedigger knew the area and its significance.
“It’s evil all right,” Derrick said in a thick voice. “Only a truly sinister person would hurt a child.”
Ellie couldn’t argue with that.
“I’ll call it in.” She tried her cell but had no bars, so she used the radio to connect with the ranger station. While she reported the grave and requested the ME and an ERT, Derrick snapped photographs and began searching the area for forensics.
A gust of wind howled from above, and the sleet intensified, fogging her vision. Through the haze of icy precipitation, Ellie thought she spotted a figure moving on the hill above. A long black coat. One of the Shadow People? The person who’d buried the bones? The killer?
She pulled her weapon and scanned the perimeter. Vultures soared above the treetops, their wings flapping.
Derrick paused, brows raised in question.
She hooked her thumb toward the slope and mouthed that she planned to check it out, for him to stay with the grave. Then she crept through the bushes, weapon trained. Sunlight tried to sneak through the trees, but failed, the clouds casting a gray desolateness over the land.
Wind shook rain and sleet from the limbs and pelted her. The plunging temperature made the droplets feel like sharp needles. Ahead, brush shifted. A branch whipped in the wind and slapped her in the face but she kept moving. She stumbled over a tree root and pawed at the air to keep from losing her balance. Her foot skidded on the slippery rock, and dirt and pebbles scattered downward into the holler.
The shadow darted to the east.
Picking up her pace, she dashed through a cluster of pines, taking a shortcut to the top of the hill. Cold slush sucked at her boots.
Her calf muscles strained as the ground grew steeper. She’d almost reached the top when she sensed
a presence in the brush behind her.
She swung around, weapon raised, but caught another movement from the opposite direction in her periphery. She pivoted, but before she could decide which direction to go, something slammed against the back of her head.
Stunned by the blow, she grasped for something to hold onto, but her feet slipped, and the world swayed and blurred. Losing control, she went tumbling down the hill, fighting brush, sticks and vines, hands digging at the ground, the rocks, the foliage, anything to stop her descent.
But her fingers grasped at empty air and she fell into the darkness.
56.
As soon as the ME and ERT arrived, Derrick decided to look for Ellie. He should have followed her, but he’d had to protect the scene.
His baby sister might be buried in this grave.
If not, another little girl was. She’d been abandoned by the monster who killed her. He couldn’t abandon her again.
“The forensic anthropologist is analyzing the bones we recovered yesterday,” Dr. Whitefeather said. “Hopefully, we’ll have an ID by this afternoon.”
Derrick’s lungs strained for air, and he simply nodded. He wanted answers. Needed them.
So did his mother. She’d tried to be brave when they talked. But fear and grief weakened her voice. So did tears. Tears she tried to hide, but he knew they were there anyway. As a teenager, he’d been tormented by her anguished sobs at night, a sound he’d never forget.
Anxious to see if Ellie had found something, he headed in the direction she’d gone. She should have been back by now. Should have made contact.
Had she found the bastard who’d dug these two graves?
An attempt to contact Ellie on her phone, then the handheld radio she’d given him, yielded nothing.
What if the killer had ambushed her? He’d been at her house the night before. Maybe he’d been watching, following her this morning.
