Blake Pierce - The Making of Riley Paige - 4 - Taking

by Blake Pierce

  smile …

  “Would you like to sit down?”

  It didn’t sound like a very sincere invitation, just something the woman

  was likely saying to be polite. But Riley figured it would be impolite on her

  part to refuse, and this was, after all, the kind of opportunity she was looking for.

  She pulled up another bamboo chair and sat down at the table with the

  group.

  When one of the women asked who she was, Riley wished she’d prepared

  a different story. Instead, she said exactly what she had at the campground

  yesterday—that she was traveling with her dad, a recently retired insurance

  man and a widower.

  Then she added …

  “Dad insisted on camping in this part of Arizona. I was worried. I wasn’t

  sure it was a good idea.”

  The women’s eyes widened.

  “Why on earth not?” one of them asked.

  Riley wondered for a moment whether she should mention both murders

  or just one. Had these women heard about last night’s victim?

  Probably not, she thought.

  After all, the media had just been arriving at the scene when she and

  Crivaro left. These women seemed rather sequestered from the outside world

  and probably hadn’t heard the news yet.

  Riley shrugged a little and said …

  “Well, we’d heard that there was a murder not far from here just the other

  day.”

  A knowing murmur passed among the women.

  “Oh, yes,” one of them said. “It happened down near Tunsboro, I believe.”

  Another patted Riley on the knee and said …

  “Don’t worry, dear. You’ll be as safe as safe can be here at Spring View.

  Nothing like that could possibly happen here.”

  The other women voiced their agreement.

  They sound so positive, Riley thought. It was as if they thought this place was under some kind of protective spell.

  If so, Riley didn’t feel inclined to share their belief. That was the way the

  Haas couple had felt about the most recent murder scene.

  The women introduced themselves as Amanda, Donna, and Janine. For a

  few moments, Riley felt oddly unsure about their ages. On the one hand, they

  seemed to be fairly young. But on the other hand, Riley noticed something

  strained and stiff about their faces.

  Then she realized …

  Facelifts.

  They were all middle-aged, and their youthful looks were no more natural

  than anything else about this peculiar place.

  They chattered away for a few moments, and Riley began to feel rather

  invisible to them. They talked about their recent meditations and classes until the one named Amanda said …

  “Has anybody seen Bliss today?”

  Riley was startled by the question. Was “bliss” something they expected to physically encounter here from time to time?

  But then the one named Donna said, “No, I haven’t seen her since

  yesterday. And her RV wasn’t in its spot.”

  Then Riley understood that “Bliss” was a woman’s name.

  Janine said, “I saw her when she was pulling out last evening. She said she

  was hoping to find a wonderful vortex.”

  Donna shrugged and said, “Well, maybe she found one and decided not to

  come back.”

  Riley felt a chill at that word …

  Vortex.

  Chief Wilson had said something about vortexes back at the crime scene.

  Riley now realized the woman they called “Bliss” was probably Shelby

  Eden. Maybe she had adopted a more New Age–sounding name since she’d

  started traveling. If Riley was right, these women clearly had no idea what

  had happened to the woman they knew as Bliss.

  And I’d better not tell them.

  Riley said to the women, “Tell me about vortexes.”

  The women looked a little surprised that Riley didn’t know about all this

  already.

  Janine said, “They’re power spots, places with tremendous spiritual

  energy.”

  Donna added, “There are three different kinds of vortexes—electrical,

  magnetic, and balanced. Electrical vortexes are ‘yang’—masculine and very

  energizing. Magnetic vortexes are ‘yin’—feminine, soft, and nurturing.

  Balanced vortexes are a mixture of electrical and magnetic, great for

  achieving clarity and perspective.”

  Riley was struck by the women’s matter-of-fact tone, as if they were

  talking about perfectly ordinary proven scientific facts. Even so, she doubted

  there was a lot of real science behind their ideas.

  Riley asked, “Where are these vortexes?”

  Amanda said, “There are four really well-known vortexes around Sedona

  —Cathedral Rock, Bell Rock, Boynton Canyon, and Airport Mesa.”

  “I’ve tried them all,” Donna said with a shrug. “They’re plenty powerful.

  Even so, I find all the transformational energy I need right here in Spring

  View—and especially at the Delphi RV Resort, up in Utah.”

  Amanda nodded in agreement and said, “Oh, yes. I love Delphi as well. A very blessed place, like this one. Exclusive, though. I’m so glad Harold and I

  were able to get a membership.”

  Donna said in a haughty tone, “Sometimes exclusive is a good thing.

  That’s why I like Delphi. The very best people show up there—successful

  people, evolved people, people with the highest self-esteem, people who know their true self-worth.”

  Amanda nodded and said, “That’s right. You meet all the most worthwhile

  people there. Nobody who is anybody would ever miss out on going to

  Delphi.”

  Then Janine said, “Yesterday Bliss told me she was heading out to find

  another vortex that most people don’t even know about. If she did find

  something wonderful, I wish she’d come back and tell us about it. I’d like to

  check it out.”

  Riley swallowed hard and thought …

  Bliss found it, all right.

  But it wasn’t wonderful.

  Riley asked, “Are you saying that your friend Bliss went out all alone to

  find this vortex?”

  “Probably,” Amanda said. “After all, this entire area is on a very spiritual

  plane.”

  “But she hasn’t come back at all,” Janine pouted.

  Donna sighed and said, “Oh, dear. I hope Bliss hasn’t gone out

  boondocking again.”

  Amanda shook her head and said, “I warned her against that.”

  Janine looked dismayed at what her two friends were saying.

  “I don’t see anything wrong with boondocking,” she said.

  Riley squinted and asked, “What’s boondocking?”

  Again, the women looked surprised that Riley didn’t know this already.

  Donna laughed and said, “Well, you’d never catch me doing it.”

  Amanda said, “It means parking your RV somewhere offsite, without any

  hookups for utilities. You know, like in a shopping center parking lot, not a

  real campground. It’s such a waste, not enjoying all the benefits of a motor

  home. Why go to the expense of buying a wonderful house on wheels and not

  get full use of it?”

  Donna said, “I think boondocking is tacky, and I told Bliss so.”

  Janine protested, “I think you’re both being very judgmental.”

  Riley sensed that an argument was about to break out, and she certainly

  didn’t wa
nt to get caught in the middle of it. She was relieved to see Agent

  Crivaro trotting toward them across the Japanese bridge. She figured she

  could introduce Crivaro to the women as her dad, and that might settle things

  down a bit.

  But Crivaro didn’t come to their table. Instead, he stood just at the edge of

  the patio and waved one arm, silently signaling to Riley that he wanted her to

  join him.

  Riley excused herself and walked over to where Crivaro was standing.

  He whispered, “Where have you been? I thought I’d find you back in the

  camper.”

  Riley stammered, “I—I’m sorry. I just got kind of curious. I mean, this is

  such an odd place, and—”

  Crivaro interrupted, “Well, don’t go wandering off like that. We’re driving

  out of here right now.”

  Riley trotted along to keep up with him.

  She said, “What’s going on?”

  Crivaro growled, “We’ve got a suspect’s name, that’s what’s going on.

  And we know where he’s headed. With a little luck, we’re about to catch our

  killer.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The man felt a familiar rising panic.

  Stupid, he thought.

  Why do I let things like this get to me?

  It was only traffic, after all—nothing that truly threatened him.

  But the cars ahead were definitely slowing down. The same thing was

  happening in the lane to his left.

  He checked his mirrors. Traffic was already piling up behind him.

  His expensive RV was closed in. He had no choice but to stay in line.

  He told himself it meant nothing. But just being stuck among these slow-

  moving vehicles stirred up a primal feeling of claustrophobic helplessness. It

  was a fear that he’d always found difficult to control.

  He could hear Aunt Florence’s voice as clearly as if she were sitting right

  here beside him …

  “Out of sight, out of mind.”

  She’d always said to that to him when he was a little boy.

  She’d say it with a tolerant smile whenever she thought he’d done

  something wrong.

  Then she’d gently take him by the hand and lead him to the closet, where

  she’d shut him in and lock him up in total darkness for many hours at a time.

  He remembered the gnawing, lonely fear he’d felt in that darkness—that

  weird and hideous feeling that very his life was ebbing out of his body onto

  the closet floor, seeping down between the floorboards never to return.

  His aunt seemed to have a way of releasing him at exactly the moment

  when he imagined he was down to his last ounce of life, that he couldn’t

  survive for another moment.

  Now, as he navigated the sluggish traffic, he tried to tell himself …

  It was a long time ago.

  Aunt Florence had died of cancer many years back, before he’d even

  reached his teenage years. She couldn’t threaten him anymore. Besides, he’d

  learned to come to terms with that trauma in his own really quite brilliant

  way.

  He smiled as he remembered the woman he’d met while camping about a

  year ago in Colorado. She’d walked toward his RV with a trusting smile,

  calling out with a cheerful wave …

  “Hi, neighbor. My name’s Erin. What’s yours?”

  And he remembered her face—how uncannily she had resembled Aunt

  Florence. He’d sensed his opportunity immediately, invited Erin into his RV

  to have a drink, and then …

  He now felt a warm, delicious sensation as he remembered the killing,

  especially the way he’d heard the woman clawing and screaming in the tight

  space where he’d forced her to bleed to death. It was the fulfillment of a

  fantasy he’d had as a little boy—that he would somehow make Aunt Florence

  feel the same horror, the same feeling of ebbing of life, that she’d inflicted

  upon him.

  That fantasy had been cut short by Aunt Florence’s early death.

  For many years, he’d never dared to hope that it would someday be

  fulfilled.

  But it had been, at least by proxy, and he was glad.

  He hadn’t regretted murdering that woman—not for a moment. He’d spent

  months afterward savoring the pleasure it had given him, the release from

  those attacks of animal panic that had seized him over the years. Of course,

  the pleasure had dissipated during the course of a year, and the spells of panic had started to come back.

  But by then, he’d known how to find relief from all that horror.

  All he had to do was inflict it upon somebody else.

  It no longer mattered to him whether his victim resembled Aunt Florence

  or not. Any woman he found appropriate would serve the purpose.

  He knew perfectly well that he’d been lucky to get away with the first

  murder, which he’d committed too close to where he lived in Colorado. So he

  prepared carefully, outfitting his motor home for the job and traveling away

  from home.

  Here in Arizona, he’d stalked and claimed his first victim, then his next,

  and now …

  With his considerable wealth, he figured he could get away with this for a

  very long time. As a prosperous businessman, he’d learned that money

  brought great freedom—not just from poverty and need, but also from moral

  scruples. The way he saw it, morals were for those who lacked the material

  resources to overcome them.

  He’d put morals behind him many years ago. He was too lofty a soul to

  bother with them.

  But he began to feel that anxiety again. The flow of traffic was still

  sluggish.

  What was going on up ahead?

  He peered out the driver’s window and glimpsed a police roadblock. The

  cops there were waving cars on through in the free lane, but the traffic was

  slowing down at that bottleneck.

  Worse, he saw that two big vehicles were pulled over on the side of the

  road.

  They were both RVs—Class A motor homes quite similar to his own.

  Fear bit into him sharply now.

  Do they know?

  Had they figured out that whoever had killed those women drove a large

  RV, where he had devised his own special “kill room”?

  Had he left some telltale clues?

  He realized that he might have. He hadn’t checked to made sure his

  vehicle hadn’t left tire tracks at the murder scenes. He cursed himself for his carelessness.

  Worst of all was the possibility of being undone in such a prosaic way—

  by perfectly ordinary cops conducting a search. Such a fate was unworthy of

  him after he had committed such elite and exquisite crimes. How could he

  have let this happen?

  As his panic mounted, he fought off his impulse to flee.

  No, he mustn’t veer over onto the shoulder and try to charge past the

  roadblock, or try to force his way along the median strip.

  Such rash action would lead to certain disaster. So would trying to fight

  off the police when they stopped him.

  But suddenly an almost eerie feeling of calm came over him.

  What am I worried about?

  I’m prepared for this.

  They won’t find a thing.

  All he had to do was exercise his charm and cool and self-confidence.

  He smiled as he thought …


  I’m very good at that.

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  Agent Crivaro’s eagerness to get back on the road practically took Riley’s

  breath away. Gravel flew up behind their RV as he pulled away from the

  Spring View Campground.

  “What’s going on?” Riley asked.

  “Just what I told you,” Crivaro said. “It looks like we’re about to nail our

  guy.”

  Then Crivaro said nothing, just eyed the road with an intense expression

  as he drove. Riley wondered if he was going to offer any further explanation.

  “How do you know?” she asked.

  Crivaro glanced at her as if he’d forgotten she was there.

  Then he replied, “When I talked to the manager back there, he let me look

  over names of people in the campground register who had come and gone

  recently. I cross-checked the list with names we had of people who were at

  the Wren’s Nest Campground when Brett Parma was there. I found a name—

  David Hunter. He left the Wren’s Nest the morning after Brett Parma’s

  murder. And according to the register, he pulled out of the Spring View

  Campground just a little while ago.”

  Crivaro’s face looked even more determined as he steered their camper

  onto the interstate, a four-lane divided highway.

  He added, “I’ve got Hunter’s license number and a description of his

  camper—a great big Class A RV. Better still, the register showed his next

  intended destination. He’s on his way north to the Cherry Rock Campground.

  That’s between here and the Grand Canyon, and he’s sure to be taking the

  interstate, just like we’re going to do. I’ve already called Chief Wilson to put out an APB to the troopers at the roadblocks, and we’re getting someone to

  watch the campground where the guy’s supposed to be headed.”

  Riley’s brain clicked away as she processed what she was hearing.

  She could certainly understand Crivaro’s excitement. Not only had David

  Hunter been at both of the campgrounds where the two women had stayed,

  he’d been there at the same times they had. And he had the kind of camper

  they were looking for. All that sure didn’t sound like a coincidence.

  This news also seemed to prove that Crivaro had been right about setting

  up the roadblocks, and Riley had been wrong. The killer wasn’t already long

  gone, as she had feared—at least not if he really was on his way toward a roadblock right now, which seemed likely.