by Rita Herron
“Maybe the bodies were left in the states where they disappeared,” said Derrick. “There could be a trail of graves up and down the AT all the way to Virginia.”
Ellie pressed her hand over her chest, overwhelmed at the morbid picture. He was probably right. But that meant they might not ever recover the little girls’ remains.
The snow was falling so fast now she could hardly see in front of her. Wind gusts intensified, stirring the snow into a blinding haze.
Derrick gently raked snowflakes away from the grave, and another tiny little wooden doll jutted from the ground.
Ellie’s chest clenched. There’d been a doll at each grave, in the cave and on her porch… what did they mean?
Shivering, she hunched in her coat, the cold biting all the way to her bones as she glanced across the rows of white-tipped trees and thick, swirling snow. A shadow hovered above on a ridge. But when she blinked, it was gone. A second later, the flap of a long black cape caught her eye. Someone was definitely there. A headache pulsed behind her eyes, as she tried to connect the pieces of the puzzle.
“My father calls the drifters, eccentrics and loners who live in the woods Shadow People,” Ellie explained. “They’re like ghosts. They hide off the grid, sometimes from the law, sometimes from life itself. There’s one he named the Preacher, who is into religious symbols and rituals. He holds sermons in the woods for anyone who wants to come and listen.” Her breath formed a white puffy cloud in front of her as she exhaled. “What if he’s the one digging these graves?”
“A preacher would fit the profile of the gravedigger,” Derrick said. “The religious symbols, the crosses… He etches the angel to help the souls of the victims rise to heaven.”
“Maybe Cord could find him. He could have seen something. Or the killer could have come to him for absolution.” Anxiety raised goosebumps on her skin. She had to confront her father about that pocket watch.
Another gust of wind hurled dirt and snow in all directions. Derrick suddenly went still, then stooped down.
“What is it?” she asked.
With a muttered curse, Derrick dug a shiny silver object from the ground then brushed dirt and snow away with his fingers.
Ellie’s heart hammered. “What is it?”
His face turned ashen as he held it up to the light. “A locket… it’s just like the one my mother gave Kim on her birthday. She was wearing it the day she disappeared.”
62.
Blindman’s Bluff
Ellie considered herself tough. But the anguish in Derrick’s voice tore at her. Although if his sister was buried here, the girl with the broken femur might not be Kim. Lots of kids broke their arms, so could be a coincidence. “You’re sure it was Kim’s?”
With shaky fingers, he opened the locket to reveal a photograph of a family. Kim, Derrick as a child, and their parents. Tears welled in Ellie’s eyes as Derrick absorbed the shock.
“I knew she couldn’t have survived, not without having found a way to contact us. But seeing this…” He swept a shaky hand toward the grave, and she couldn’t resist. She squeezed his arm in a comforting gesture.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly.
His expression was as forbidding as the desolate sky.
The storm had intensified, the snow coming down in white waves now, the wind so fierce it felt like she could be blown off the mountain. Without a storm, they’d have at least a couple of more hours to search for Penny, but the conditions made that impossible. “We either have to hike back down for the night and come back when the storm lets up or find shelter till morning.” Already her toes and fingers were starting to feel numb, her cheeks raw from the cold.
“I’m not leaving,” he said, his voice gruff.
It hadn’t really been a question. “Then let’s cover the grave. I have a tarp in my bag. Then we’ll find shelter for the night. Hopefully the ERT can come out tomorrow.”
Overnight, the snow would freeze, making conditions even more dangerous. And if it snowed again… She shook herself. She didn’t want to imagine how that would affect the situation.
Together they stretched the tarp over the small grave to preserve it. Using the stakes in her bag, they secured the cover, although with the brutal wind, they had to add heavy rocks to keep it in place.
If Kim was the unsub’s first kill and this was her grave, it might hold the answer to the killer’s identity. But if someone else had buried her here, any evidence might have been lost when she was moved.
Another gust of wind howled through the trees, and Ellie motioned up the hill. Night had fallen, the storm clouds making the skies black, and reminding her too much of the night she’d been lost herself. “Come on. Let’s gather wood for a fire and take cover. There’s a shelter a little further on.”
They radioed in their plans, then together, they worked in silence, hurrying to gather sticks and branches and battling the roaring wind. Finally, they stowed their gear in the back of the shelter, away from the partially open side, stacked the twigs and small limbs in the firepit and lit the kindling. It took several minutes for the wet sticks to light but heat slowly warmed the space. Ellie spread her sleeping bag onto the wood floor, and Derrick followed suit. She pulled a pack of dried soup and a metal tin from her bag, and once they’d heated some water, they had a simple meal.
Derrick watched her with hooded eyes as she handed him a steaming cup. “You’re prepared, aren’t you?”
“My father taught me survival skills on our camping trips.” Memories of their trips blurred with his adamant statement that he was backing Bryce for sheriff. Betrayal cut deep. And how would he explain the pocket watch she’d found near the grave?
Pain strained Derrick’s face. She pictured the small grave disappearing underneath a blanket of white. She couldn’t imagine the thoughts running through his head.
Restless and agitated, she wiped out the pot and mugs and stowed them in her pack for the night. Silently, they worked together to cover the shelter opening as best they could, tacking the corners so the wind didn’t rip it from the doorway.
Grateful she’d worn her thermal underwear and wool socks, she crawled inside the sleeping bag, then leaned against the wall to face Derrick. He poked at the fire with a stick, stirring the embers and keeping the flames alive as he added more kindling.
Slowly the fire warmed her, and the flickering light helped to calm her phobia of the dark. But it was too early to go to sleep. And she was too wired.
“Tell me more about your family,” she murmured, needing a distraction and curious about the man with her.
His jaw tightened. “Kim was a funny kid,” he said, a small smile tilting his mouth. “She liked the outdoors and followed my father around like a puppy dog. She’d just joined a soccer team, and he was coaching, so they practiced for hours together.”
“Sounds like they were close.”
“They were. Dad used to do scavenger hunts with us. At Christmas and Easter, we had to follow the clues to find our presents and Easter baskets.”
“That sounds like a sweet memory,” Ellie said softly.
“It was.” His voice grew rough. “He was kind and gentle, a beta guy, Ellie. I never heard him raise his voice to my mother or to us.” He warmed his hands over the fire, drawing her attention to his long fingers and wide hands. Not as calloused as Cord’s but still masculine, weathered. “That’s how I know he’d never have hurt Kim or any other child.”
Ellie nodded thoughtfully. “So Kim was a tomboy?”
“Yeah, but she also liked dolls and hairbows. One year all she wanted for her birthday was a pair of red sparkly shoes.”
“Dorothy shoes,” Ellie said, recalling The Wizard of Oz.
“Right. She named her stuffed dog Toto and used to dance up and down the sidewalk chanting ‘Follow the Yellow Brick Road’.”
“I think I would have liked her,” Ellie murmured. “She sounds like a spunky little girl.”
“She was. Kim liked to put on
impromptu plays. Mom made a special photo album of all the dances and shows she dreamed up.”
His voice cracked, and her heart ached for him. “I can’t imagine how awful it’s been for you and your mother.”
Agony flickered in his eyes.
A second later, he shut down. He crawled in his sleeping bag and angled himself to watch the fire, disappearing into his own private world of anger and hurt. Ellie wanted to comfort him, but what could she say?
They had just uncovered five small graves. And there were more.
She just prayed they weren’t too late for Penny.
63.
Stony Gap
Judging from the foggy white cloud cover over the mountains, the blizzard was already striking at the higher altitudes but hadn’t quite struck the lower areas. Even with it threatening the town of Stony Gap, the stupid residents had carried on the Cornbread Festival.
When he was a teenager and on his own, he’d ventured into town to watch the tourists and locals gathered for the festival, there for the craft fairs, bake sales, pie-eating contests, petting zoo, and garage sales that spanned for miles and miles along the small mountain towns.
Today, cornbread was the focus. The mountain people used any occasion to throw a town celebration.
The smell of spicy chili, turkey legs, and salty boiled peanuts filled the air. Excited chatter over surprising finds at the vendor booths mingled with hushed whispers about the little girl that was missing.
Some paranoid souls clutched their children’s hands in a death grip, as if they feared they’d be snatched under their noses. A few even had toddlers on leashes.
Laughter caught in his throat. That nightmare was about to come true for one.
He just had to pick her out.
He’d never taken two girls so close together. Always killed one, then rested for a while or moved around so as not to attract attention.
But excitement stirred inside him at the thought that taking a little girl right in town would throw the cops off and add to his fame.
All the mamas who’d come to the homes where he’d lived like a rat in a cage, to pick over the lot of discarded kids, and then thumbed their noses at him—they would be sorry.
His fingers curled around the newest little doll he’d carved as he maneuvered through the busy streets. So many people with heavy coats and hats, faces scrunched against the blasting wind and hidden by thick wool scarves. It was easy to blend in. Especially with all the tents covering the ground and the storm picking up. Wind banged the flaps of the tents and people scurried from one booth to the next, ducking against the snow, oblivious to each other.
Children squealed from that big hideous bouncy house, and one mother swiped at her little boy’s face where he’d smeared marshmallows from his hot chocolate. Wooden decoy ducks, pottery, glass blown bottles, art made out of junk, cornhusk dolls and scrap metal artwork filled the booths. In spite of the inclement weather, one booth handed out fliers for whitewater rafting and guided hikes on the AT.
An entire row was set up for the cornbread tastings and sales. Food trucks sat at one end, selling everything from turkey legs and Brunswick stew to funnel cakes and homemade fudge.
At the corner by the playground, a station had been set up for the kids with make your own sand bottles, henna tattoos, and face painting. Although the crowd was thinning as night began to settle in.
Slipping into the shadows of a live oak, he studied the faces as the children lined up for their turn.
A second later, a couple strolled by. Their little dark-haired girl was in a big puffy lavender coat and a purple snow cap with pom poms on the top. She tugged at the woman’s hand.
“I wanna get my face painted, Mommy.”
The father veered toward the cornbread tasting station across from the face-painting booth, and the mother smiled at the little girl. “Go ahead and get in line. Daddy and I will be right over there.”
The little girl skipped over to pick her design while the parents became absorbed in tasting the different varieties of cornbread.
His pulse quickened. She was perfect.
He pulled the little doll from his pocket and inched closer. While Mama and Daddy were busy stuffing their faces, he’d show her the doll.
And then she would be his.
64.
Day 4 Missing,
March 4, 2:00 a.m., Blindman’s Buff
Exhausted and emotionally drained from the day, Ellie fell asleep with images of the dead girls floating through her head. Their angelic spirits were lost, hovering in no man’s land between earth and heaven, souls searching for peace and the light.
Then Mae appeared, a ghost of the girl from her childhood.
Mae was playing hide and seek again. “Count to one hundred, Ellie!” Mae ran to hide. Ellie leaned against the tall pine tree, pinecones crunching as she swished her feet around. With one hand, she covered her eyes and began to count. Birds twittered. A dog barked in the distance.
The sweet smell of honeysuckle filled the air. Mae liked to pull the stem off and suck the sweet nectar. Ellie had learned to like it, too.
The air stirred around her. Something brushed her leg. Ellie opened one eye and kept counting as she looked down to make sure a snake wasn’t winding around her leg. They always came out in the spring, their babies slithering through the grass and weeds, into the backyard.
But there was nothing there.
“Ninety, ninety-one, ninety-two…” A slight mist chilled the air. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Mama said it was supposed to storm. Not to go far.
“Ninety-nine, one hundred!” Opening her eyes, she turned in a wide arc to peer through the trees. “Ready or not, here I come!”
She glanced to the left then the right, trying to decide which way Mae would go. Toward the creek, or the hills where they liked to hide in the old mine? Or down to the river where they used the rope swing to catapult them into the deep section of the water? Remembering how her daddy followed tracks on the ground, she looked down to study the dirt.
Weeds, grass, moss, leaves, tree stumps… There. A clump of weeds and tree bark were smashed from where someone had stepped on them. She tried to judge where the tip of Mae’s shoe was and the bottom to understand the direction she’d gone.
Toward the old mines. Daddy told her not to go inside. Ever. The mines might collapse on top of you.
Ellie shivered. She didn’t like small spaces. Especially dark cramped ones.
She followed the footprints up the hill, weaving between the massive trees, around the corner, over the bend.
A shadow moved to the right, and she jerked her head toward the movement. “Mae?”
The wind whistled back, a creepy sound that gave her goosebumps on her arms. But no Mae. Raindrops began to fall, pinging her face and jacket.
“Mae, come back, we have to go home!”
But she didn’t answer.
Thunder clapped and lightning zigzagged across the tops of the trees. Rain fell faster.
She ran up the hill toward the mine. “Mae, come on, game over!”
Nothing.
Knowing Mama would be mad that they’d gone so far in the woods, she switched on the little flashlight she’d got in her Christmas stocking and shined it into the opening of the mine shaft. “Mae, we have to get home!”
A twig snapped behind her. She heard breathing. Mae was sneaking up on her. Laughing, thinking it was funny to scare her.
She turned to see, but a big hulking shadow blocked out the light. Then someone pushed her, and she fell into the weeds. She blinked and cried out for Mae.
But when she opened her eyes, Mae was gone. And she was all alone in the darkness.
Ellie jerked awake, her chest heaving for air. The fire had gone out, pitching them into the kind of total darkness that made her body quiver with fear. And the shelter was freezing, the cold seeping through the tarp and thin wooden walls. She blinked against the black, disturbed by the nightmare. It had felt so real, a
s if it had really happened.
Only her parents hadn’t believed her. She still remembered her mother’s hateful admonishment.
“Stop, lying, Ellie. Mae is not real. You made her up because you wanted a sister.” Eyes disapproving, her mother had shaken her so hard her teeth rattled. “Don’t ever go into the woods alone. And no more talk about Mae.”
Ellie rubbed her arms to ward off the bitter chill. Too wired to sleep, she crawled over to the firepit, added more sticks, stirred the ashes then relit the kindling. Her nerves settled slightly as she watched the orange and red embers spark back to life and a faint light glow against the darkness. Still, her teeth chattered and she was trembling with cold, her toes and fingers numb.
Derrick must have finally fallen asleep, but he was tossing and turning. He had his own nightmares to contend with. The need to comfort him and erase the horror of the day from her mind seized her, and she couldn’t stop herself from curling up next to him. His body shook as he twisted, and she rubbed circles along his back. Seconds later, he suddenly turned over and gripped her arms. His eyes were glazed, his startled look full of questions.
The beard stubble on his jaw made him look rugged, the torment on his face so stark that Ellie couldn’t resist. She brushed her thumb across his cheek, then whispered his name. Cocooned from the world, with the firelight flickering across his face, she could almost forget why they were out here. That they were chasing a killer.
Tension simmered between them, charging the air and making the space feel intimate. Hurt flashed in his eyes. Then raw need.
Breath catching, she laid her hand against his cheek. Their gazes locked. He made a low sound in his throat and lowered his mouth to hers.
The cold, fear and sorrow she’d felt during the last few hours were mirrored in the furious, almost desperate way he kissed her. Tension mounted, and she stroked his back then urged him closer.
