“Yes, ma’am.”
Bree scanned the parking lot, then led Alyssa inside. The room wasn’t fancy, but it was clean. Two double beds took up most of the space, and a wide window overlooked the parking lot. She checked in the closet, under the bed, and in the bathroom. There was one small window in the bathroom that no adult man could squeeze through. She returned to the living room and looked out the window. The deputy outside had a clear visual of the door and the cement stairs leading to the second-floor walkway. No one could approach Alyssa’s room without being seen. This was the best Bree could do.
“All you have to do is look out these curtains and you’ll see a deputy outside.” Bree closed the curtains.
“What if he leaves?”
“Then another will take his place.”
“What if I look out and no one’s there?”
Bree pulled a business card from her wallet. “Here’s my cell number. Call me anytime.”
Alyssa stood in the middle of the room, clutching her Walmart bags and looking lost. “I haven’t slept in a real bed in a long time, and I don’t remember the last time I stayed in a motel.”
“Why don’t you take a hot shower? Are you hungry?”
Alyssa didn’t answer. She didn’t seem interested in food.
“Pizza OK?” Bree didn’t like to miss dinner with the kids, but Alyssa seemed too nervous to leave alone.
She sat in the desk chair and called for pizza delivery. Alyssa went into the bathroom. Water rushed through pipes as the shower turned on. The pizza arrived before Alyssa emerged. Clean and dressed in the plaid flannel pajamas they’d bought at Walmart, she looked much younger than nineteen.
Bree had ordered bottled water and Coke with the pizza. “I didn’t know what you wanted to drink.”
Alyssa took the Coke and ate a slice.
“There’s a mini fridge in the dresser.” Bree opened the door and stashed the water inside. “Try to get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Alyssa grabbed Bree’s arm. “What if he comes back?”
“That’s why Deputy Rogers is outside.”
“He doesn’t like me.” Alyssa hugged her arms.
“He will protect you.” Bree thought about staying, but as sheriff, she had to delegate tasks. Her own family needed to come first. “Lock the door after I leave. It’ll be OK.”
But Alyssa looked like a child as Bree left the room. Torn, Bree walked past Rogers’s patrol vehicle.
Alyssa would be fine. She’d be watched all night long.
Bree slid into her SUV. Guilt followed her all the way home. While she drove, she reviewed the case in her head. Was Alyssa really in danger? Had she seen a murder? Alyssa was either lying, mentally ill, or a murderer had actually been following her.
A young man was dead. Alyssa’s story had led her to his body. Those two things might not even be related. But Bree didn’t like coincidences. She preferred logic.
She parked next to the house. It felt like days had passed since she’d left that morning. It was after eight o’clock when she slipped in the back door.
Kayla and Ladybug were waiting for her. The dog beelined for Bree’s knees. Bree caught her and gave her an awkward rub behind the ears. Despite Bree’s discomfort, the dog wanted her attention.
The little girl carried her stuffed pig under one arm. “You’re late.”
Bree kissed the top of her head. “I know. I’m sorry.”
She hung up her jacket and kicked off her boots. She didn’t know whether she wanted to eat or shower first.
“Dana left your dinner in the oven.” Kayla stood as close as the dog. Bree gently nudged them so she could move.
“What is it?” Bree hung her messenger bag on a hook by the door. Moving into the kitchen, she set her phone on the kitchen island. After washing her hands, she opened the oven. The smell of chicken sent her stomach rumbling into overtime.
“Chicken marsala.” Kayla pronounced the word slowly, as if she’d practiced. “I helped make it.”
Bree grabbed a pot holder and used it to carry the dish to the table. The dog sank to the floor and rested her head on her paws, but her eyes followed the plate of food. Kayla sat her pig in a chair, then filled a glass with water and brought it to Bree, along with utensils.
“Thank you.” Bree sliced off a chunk of chicken. “This is really good.”
Kayla giggled as she sat across from Bree and rested her elbows on the table. “It has wine in it.”
“The alcohol cooks off.”
“That’s what Dana said.” Kayla sounded disappointed.
Kayla talked nonstop while Bree ate her chicken and potatoes. The little girl still suffered from nightmares and separation anxiety, but during the last few weeks she’d also had happy moments. Bree was grateful for each and every one. By the time Bree had finished her dinner, she knew every detail of Kayla’s day, right down to what her teacher had worn.
“I’m glad you had a good day.” Bree pushed back her plate. The child’s company had soothed her raw nerves.
“Can we read another chapter of Harry Potter tonight?” Kayla pulled her pig into her lap and stroked its head.
“Of course. Go brush your teeth and get into bed. I’ll be up in five minutes.”
Kayla scrambled out of the chair and left the room.
Wrapped in a thick blue robe, Dana walked into the kitchen. “Tea?”
“Not now, but thanks.”
“Ah, bedtime story?”
“Yep.”
“I’m glad you made it home in time.” Dana filled a mug with water and stuck it in the microwave.
“I try,” Bree said. “Kayla seems to have had a good day. How is Luke?”
Dana sighed. “I don’t know. He’s been doing homework since he got home from baseball practice. It’s crazy they’re starting already. It’s still winter.”
“They practice inside until the weather breaks.” Bree had been the same age as Kayla when she’d lost her parents. She remembered exactly how it had felt: the crushing confusion and loneliness, the sense of being completely alone even in a classroom full of other kids. She didn’t want either Luke or Kayla to feel that isolated. She wanted to be there for them, but Luke seemed resistant.
Bree stood. “Kayla will at least talk to me. With Luke, I’m hitting a wall.”
Dana nodded. “Same.”
“I’ll talk to him after I read to Kayla.” Bree went upstairs. Luke’s door was closed.
Kayla was in her bed. She had lined up her stuffed animals on either side of her for story time. The pig was on her lap. He always got the best seat. Bree sat on the edge of the bed and opened the book. They were halfway through. At first, Bree had been concerned that Harry Potter was too dark, but Kayla loved the story. Maybe she needed to read about another orphan whose life was as full of darkness as her own.
“Do you think Mommy would have liked Harry Potter?” Kayla asked.
The question took Bree by surprise. Grief clogged her throat, and her eyes blurred with tears. Erin should be alive to share these moments with her daughter. “I think your mommy would have loved him.”
“Me too.” Kayla smiled.
Bree read for a half hour, until the little girl’s eyes closed and her breathing evened out. Bree left the lights on as she exited the room. She knocked softly on Luke’s door, but he didn’t answer. Light seeped beneath the crack under his door. It was only nine o’clock. Was he asleep?
She hesitated, her hand a few inches from the doorknob. Should she open the door or not? He was sixteen. Privacy was important to him, and she respected that, but she also wanted to keep tabs on him.
An image of Alyssa’s scarred wrists flashed into her mind. She’d had no one to check on her after her dad had died, and her grief and loneliness had driven her to consider—maybe even half-heartedly attempt—suicide. Bree didn’t want to see similarities between Alyssa and Luke, but she couldn’t help it.
Bree knocked one more time.
&nb
sp; To her relief, Luke responded with a sleepy, “Yeah.”
Bree opened Luke’s door a few inches. He lay on his side, writing in a spiral notebook. Brown, tousled hair fell over his forehead.
Bree went into his room, turned his desk chair around, and sat facing him. “How was your day?”
“It was OK.” He was naturally lean, but his cheekbones looked more prominent. Had he lost weight?
She gestured toward his notebook. “What are you working on?”
“Big Algebra II test tomorrow.”
What Bree remembered about algebra would fit on a postage stamp. “Anything important happen today?”
“Not really.” Luke tapped on his notebook. “I really need to finish these review problems and get to sleep.”
“Baseball practice again tomorrow?”
“Yeah.”
“If you’re tired, I can take over feeding the horses in the morning,” Bree offered.
He shook his head. “I like doing it.”
“OK.” Frustrated, Bree stood and pushed the chair under the desk. “I’ll let you finish up. Don’t worry about the horses tonight. I’ll do barn check.”
“Thanks.” He went back to his math problem.
Downstairs, she made a cup of tea and sat across from Dana. “He’s been going to bed really early lately. Is that normal?”
“He gets up at dawn to feed the horses, has a full day of school, then goes to baseball practice. When he comes home, he cleans the barn and does homework.” Dana got up and went to the pantry. “He has plenty of reasons to be tired.”
Dana brought a bakery box to the table. She opened the lid to reveal chocolate croissants. “These were going to be for breakfast, but you look like you could use one now.”
“Definitely.” Bree took a napkin from the holder in the center of the table and selected a pastry. “He likes to be busy.”
“And avoid dealing with his problems. Sounds like someone else I know.” Dana had been her partner for years. No one knew Bree better.
“Guilty,” Bree admitted. “How do I get him to talk to me?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t been very successful.”
“Maybe he needs to talk to another man.” Bree bit into the pastry. “I’ll call Adam tomorrow. With my new case, I’m unfortunately going to be working overtime.” Bree’s brother lived close by, but he was an artist who tended to get lost in his work for long periods of time.
Dana wiped her hands on a napkin. “If he won’t talk to Adam, maybe he’d see a therapist. It might be easier to talk to a stranger.”
“Maybe.” But Bree had her doubts about that. She wasn’t fond of therapy, and Dana’s spot-on assessment of Bree pointed out how similar she and Luke were. Bree’s parents had been acutely—fatally—dysfunctional. Bree’s sister had had significant attachment issues. Bree had never had a relationship that was marriage material. Were all the Taggerts flawed? Deep inside, she hoped her family wasn’t simply destined to repeat their loop of violence and tragedy.
CHAPTER TWELVE
He almost missed the turn in the dark. Half-covered with overgrown evergreens, the opening was barely visible. He stomped on the brake and jerked the wheel. His vehicle fishtailed. The tires spun, shooting snow and gravel behind his vehicle. He eased off the gas pedal and straightened the car.
Relax!
He couldn’t panic now. He still had work to do.
Trees bowed overhead, making the narrow lane even darker. He let the car roll forward, maintaining a slow and steady speed on the frozen, rutted lane.
He drove around the main building and parked in front of a large garage. He got out of his car and opened the overhead door. The rusty metal mechanisms squeaked. He pulled his car inside. He stood in the dark, staring at the two bundles wrapped in black tarps and propped in the corner. Sweat ran down his back, chilling him.
Going to the Walmart had been a close call.
Following the sheriff had been risky, but he’d learned what he’d needed to know. The girl had definitely recognized him.
She had to die.
But first things first. The weather forecast called for a warmer spell next week. Dead bodies would smell once the temperature rose above freezing.
He reached for the sack of tools on a workbench, then went outside and walked down the slope. The lake gleamed black in the darkness. His boots slid on the icy ground as he scrambled onto the dock. He walked out over the water, taking care to avoid rotten boards. He’d considered dumping the body at the dam, where the water still flowed, but the area was too public. He needed seclusion. No one ever came here.
Halfway down the dock, he surveyed his surroundings. He couldn’t have anyone watching him. He’d brought ice-fishing equipment as a cover just in case he encountered company, but there was no one.
The ice held as he shuffled to where the water would be deep enough. Then he dropped to his knees and took the chisel and hammer out of his bag. When he tapped on the chisel, a small piece of dried blood fell to the ice. It turned from dark crimson to bright red as it rehydrated. He wiped the hammer on the ice. It left a red trail. He needed to clean his tools better.
With every strike of the hammer, the chisel bit into the ice. He remembered the last time he’d used the hammer. He hadn’t been so restrained or gentle. He smiled with the memory. He couldn’t wait to do that again.
Payback is a bitch.
When the hole was large enough to accommodate his hacksaw, he switched tools. The ice wasn’t too thick, and it only took him a few minutes to enlarge the opening. Murky lake water swirled in the opening. He climbed to his feet, turned in a circle, and checked his surroundings again.
He saw nothing but ice and trees and darkness.
Perfect.
Most people didn’t like the darkness, but night was his favorite time. He could do anything in the dark. Anything he wanted. No one would see.
He shuffled back to the garage. After setting down the bag of tools, he wrangled the first black tarp out of the corner. Dead bodies were fucking heavy. By the time he’d dragged it out the door, his back ached. He wiped his forehead with a glove, then grabbed the edges of the tarp and pulled the body toward the lake. It slid easily downhill on the snow. When he’d reached the lake, the tarp slipped down the embankment onto the ice with little effort.
At the edge of the hole, he removed the duct tape from the tarp. It opened, revealing the bloody ruin of a face.
Not so pretty now, are you?
He gave the body a kick and watched it roll off the tarp. The naked limbs flopped, limp and useless, onto the ice. Satisfaction filled him as he shoved the body into the hole. It slid beneath the surface, one gray-tinged hand turned in a circle, almost like a wave goodbye, before it sank. The fingers slid beneath the surface and disappeared.
See ya.
Pride surged inside him. A certain someone would never fuck another woman.
Two pricks down, plenty more to go.
Would the body sink and stay put? Ideally, no one would find it until spring. But even if they did, it didn’t matter. He’d never been arrested. No one had ever taken his fingerprints. His DNA wasn’t on file anywhere. There was nothing that could tie him to the murders.
He turned away from the hole and collected his tarp. He was going to need it again.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Tuesday morning, Matt and Greta finished their run before sunrise. He showered, then fed himself and the dogs and checked the morning news report. The coverage of the body found in the lake was superficial. No news on Eli’s disappearance, other than the search hadn’t turned up any clues. Bree had given a brief statement the day before at the boat ramp. The news channels replayed it.
Matt was drinking his second cup of coffee when his phone rang.
Bree.
He answered the call.
“I’m headed to the ME’s office. Thought you might want to come along.”
Matt set his cup in the sink. “Has Dr. Jones ID’d the
body?”
“Not yet, but she’s doing the autopsy this morning.”
As much as Matt hated observing autopsies, he felt as if this one was important. “OK. Do you want me to meet you there?”
“Sure. I’ll see you soon.” Bree ended the call.
Matt crated Greta and left the house. The ME’s office was in the municipal complex, not far from the sheriff’s station. Bree’s official SUV was already parked out front when he drove up. He found her suiting up outside the autopsy suite. Her face was as pale as the mask she was tying around her head.
“You OK?” He stepped into coveralls and booties and grabbed a mask.
“Yep,” she said through clenched teeth.
She paused at the entrance, one hand on the door. “I haven’t been here since I viewed Erin’s body.”
“Do you need to go in? Dr. Jones will give you a report.” Matt had stood with her that day two months before. He would stand with her today. He walked closer, took her hand, and squeezed it.
Her fingers twined with his. “Yes. I do. This is my first homicide since I’ve taken office. Besides, I have to take this step at some point. Might as well be today.” She drew in a deep breath, released his hand, and opened the door. Bree would never take the easy way out.
Matt followed her inside. The main autopsy bay held a stainless-steel table, cabinets, and scales. For Matt, it wasn’t the sights and smells that got to him, but his imagination. His years as an investigator had shown him countless horrors that could be inflicted on the human body. The second the smell of formalin hit his nose, those cases came back in a flood of bloody images that nearly gagged him.
Dr. Jones was deep into the autopsy. She was bent over the corpse’s face and dictating her findings for her report.
She looked up. Her gaze went from Bree to Matt and back again.
“Sheriff.” Dr. Jones straightened and pointed her scalpel at Matt. “I know you.”
“Yes.” Matt opened his mouth to tell her they’d met when Bree identified her sister’s body, but Bree cut him off.
See Her Die Page 9
