“Doesn’t hurt to take a peek at it occasionally,” he said noncommittally. No need to get folks stirred up on a wild-goose chase. This quick glance was only a way to satisfy his overactive imagination.
“So you say.” Her intelligent gray eyes sharpened but she rose and went to the row of old steel file cabinets. In seconds, she produced a thick manila envelope bulging with yellowed papers.
“Got to appreciate a man who wants to look at the real paperwork and not the scanned reports,” she said with a nod.
“Call me old-fashioned.” The computer was a huge convenience, but sometimes all the documents weren’t scanned and the photographic detail was often blurred. He preferred to study the original black-and-white photos.
He tucked the folder under an arm. “Thanks.”
“How’s your girlfriend doing?” she asked, amusement spiking her eyes.
Harlan inwardly groaned. She was as bad as the guys. Ever since Lilah’s oh-so-public announcement of her pregnancy, the teasing had been unmerciful. Everyone kept pressing him, curious if the baby might really be his after all.
“She’s fine,” he answered tersely, cutting off the discussion.
Zelda smirked. “Don’t forget to invite me to the baby shower.”
He beat a hasty retreat back to his office and opened the file, spreading its contents over his desk. The original police reports were typewritten and riddled with smattering blotches of white correction fluid. No convenient delete key twenty-five years ago when these reports were made. He opened the tattered envelope of photographs.
Victim number one, Amzie Billbray. Age thirty-two, white female.
Victim number two, Raylene Rucker. Age twenty-eight, white female.
Both females were described as a “fallen woman”—a polite euphemism back then for a prostitute. Each looked at least a decade older than her real age—gaunt mountain women with bleak eyes and thin joyless lips that tugged down in the corners. No amount of dark lipstick or blush could completely cover that veneer of desperation.
There appeared to be nothing in common between the victims, other than their shared profession. Both of them were strangled after sexual contact. Both of them were found with their faces buried in their pillows. Despite an intense investigation, no one was ever charged. The only clue was that the victims’ friends claimed each of the women was wearing a piece of jewelry that was never found. Cheap costume baubles, they’d insisted, certainly nothing valuable or that would lure a robber to attack them.
Still, the police took notice, believing the murderer might have taken the items as trophies. Mementos whereby the killer felt linked to the women he’d killed and took secret pleasure in reliving his violent crime.
The two killings were a few months apart, and then—inexplicably—no more victims were ever found. It was as if the killer had either spent all his rage (highly unlikely), had moved away, gone to jail, or had died.
Harlan flipped through the dozens of photos, most of them of the crime scenes, until he found the one he sought.
One of Raylene’s cousins had provided police with a picture of her wearing the missing bracelet. The photographer had cropped the image to Raylene’s wrist and had enlarged the photo.
Harlan squinted at it. It was a leather braided bracelet with two small copper discs alongside a small stone. He flipped the photo over and read the handwriting: “brown leather with a garnet chip and two copper discs engraved with the initials RR.”
His chest squeezed and his fingers went numb. No. What were the chances? Had Lilah really found one of the missing pieces to the old killings? Excitement warred with fear for her safety. But if that was Raylene’s bracelet, then more than likely Chauncey Tedder had been the murderer all along. And he was now dead.
Harlan leaned back in the chair and steepled his fingers, reasoning out the implications. It wasn’t as if he’d been close to Lilah’s dad, but he’d always rather liked Chauncey. Sure, he’d been a hotheaded ole cuss when drunk, and he’d been involved in making illegal ’shine, but Chauncey had seemed a decent sort of man for all that. Hard to wrap his mind around Chauncey strangling two women.
If it were true, the news would tear Lilah up inside. Damn, she’d been through enough and was pregnant on top of it all. He hoped to God that when he examined her bracelet tonight it wouldn’t have those engraved discs. Quickly, he scanned the rest of the report until he found a written description of the other two missing pieces, a glass beaded necklace and a cameo ring. He picked up that page and the bracelet picture to make photocopies to show Lilah.
“What ya up to?”
J.D. strolled into the room and sank his considerable girth into the chair in front of Harlan’s desk. Beefy fingers pawed at the old reports.
Of course, Zelda had told him he’d checked out the file. That woman knew where her bread was buttered.
“Just looking over this old case,” said Harlan.
“Any particular reason?”
J.D.’s hands fumbled at the pocket of his shirt uniform, then dropped by his side. The sheriff had given up smoking years ago, but still reached for a phantom cigarette when he wanted to settle in for a chat.
“No,” Harlan lied. He needed to get his facts straight first and then break the bad news to Lilah if Chauncey ended up being a postmortem suspect. No way he’d let her hear this news secondhand.
“So out of the blue, you decided to comb through it this afternoon? Strange. No one’s requested that file in years.”
“Keep up with it, do you?”
J.D. shrugged his massive shoulders. “Glanced at the checkout record Zelda keeps when she told me you wanted to review those old murders. Not like you’ve shown much interest until now. Doubt the murders cross anyone’s radars these days. So, naturally, this makes me wonder if there’s a reason for your sudden interest.”
Harlan supposed that curiosity was a deeply ingrained personality trait in law enforcement work, but J.D.’s questioning made him slightly uncomfortable and defensive. Their professional relationship had cooled since Lilah had returned to Lavender Mountain.
“You should be glad when employees keep up with these old cases.”
“Never hurts, never hurts,” J.D. mumbled. “Anything new going on?”
“Nope. Same old stuff.”
“That Tedder girl got you on your toes? We don’t see much of you at Hazel’s bar these days.”
“Her name’s Lilah, and I’ve been busy, that’s all.”
“Sure you have.” J.D. rose and lumbered to the door. He paused in the doorway. “Just ’cause she got knocked up is no reason to flush your career down the toilet. If a paternity test shows you’re the father, agree to pay child support and move on. I think the good citizens of this county would raise their brows at you marrying a Tedder.”
Anger sparked up and down his spine, and he rose. “The good citizens of this county can kiss my ass, then.”
J.D. sadly shook his head. “See what happens when you lie in bed with a Tedder? Problems. Sometimes you’re better off letting sleeping dogs lie.” With that parting quip, he disappeared down the hallway.
That was a hell of an attitude for the county’s chief law enforcement officer to espouse.
Harlan slapped the Hilltop Strangler paperwork back in the folder, except for the photo and the missing jewelry description. The case might be old, but it was far from cold.
Despite his simmering anger, J.D. did have a point. If Chauncey turned out to be a serial killer, any affiliation with a Tedder would be a death knell on his dream of becoming sheriff. And this county needed him. J.D. had gotten old and lazy and had let things slide.
Harlan only hoped it wasn’t too late to turn back crime in Elmore County.
* * *
LILAH PULLED THE biscuits out of the oven and inhaled the fresh-bread aroma. No telling what time Harlan would ret
urn; his hours were erratic. She’d go ahead and treat herself to a biscuit. She slathered its golden top with butter and groaned with pleasure as she bit into the home-baked goodness. Too bad Harlan didn’t keep cans of preserves. She could buy some apples and peaches tomorrow and spend the day canning.
Abruptly, she lowered the biscuit and grimaced. Don’t get too comfy and domesticated here. This living arrangement was temporary, best to keep that in mind.
The door opened and a familiar set of footsteps sounded from the den.
“Smells good in here.” Harlan entered the kitchen and flashed a wan smile.
“What’s wrong?”
He dropped the smile. “Am I that obvious?”
“No, but I can read you.”
“That’s scary,” he tried to joke. “It can wait until after dinner.”
“Uh-uh, I’ll just worry. Tell me now.”
“It might not be anything.” He came to her side and the usual tingle ran down her skin at his nearness, but instead of embracing her, Harlan lifted her right wrist and twisted the leather band of her bracelet.
“What are you doing?”
“Take it off.”
She shrugged. “Okay. You sure are acting weird. It’s just something I found—”
“—in your dad’s cabin. I remember.”
He unhooked the clasp and held the strip of leather up to the overhead light. “Damn it!”
Dread clawed at her gut. “What?”
Lines grooved in his forehead and his eyes were shadowed with pity as he faced her.
“I’m not going to like this news, am I?” asked Lilah.
“Sit down.”
He scraped back a kitchen chair and she perched on the edge of the wooden seat, clasping her hands in her lap.
Ping. Her cell phone chirruped from the counter. Ping.
Might as well answer. It could be important. Lilah grabbed it and clicked open the text messenger.
Hey, there...everything ok? Where ya been? Miss seeing u ’round here. When are u coming back? Luke.
Should have known. Nice guy, but a pest. She sighed and tossed the phone on the kitchen table.
“Who was it?”
“Luke.” His jaw tightened.
“You met him at my apartment complex the morning—” she swallowed “—that Darla died and you came to tell me.”
“What does he want?”
Lilah lifted her shoulders. “Said he wondered how I was and why I haven’t been home.”
“You sure he’s only a friend?” he asked, a sharp edge in his voice.
She squirmed and then straightened her back. “We saw each other for a bit after you stopped calling me.”
He opened his mouth, no doubt to ask if Luke was the one who had gotten her pregnant. She rushed to cut him off. “Tell me about the bracelet.”
Harlan nodded and pointed to the back of one of the copper disks. “Can you see that? It’s engraved with the initials RR.”
She squinted at the corroded copper and the initials showed faintly. “Okay. Who’s this RR person?”
“Raylene Rucker. The original owner.”
Raylene...the name tickled the far recesses of her memory but she couldn’t quite recall where she’d heard it before.
“She was murdered twenty-five years ago along with another woman, Amzie Billbray.”
Images flooded her brain—newspaper headlines of the Hilltop Strangler and whispered conversations from her childhood. Lilah scooted back her chair, as if trying to distance herself from any connection so foul. The scrape of chair and tile was as loud as a gunshot. How could such a small strip of leather create such terror? She felt dizzy. Unmoored.
“How... What...?”
“When you told me about the jewelry last night, it rang a bell. Especially since you’d also found such a large cache of hidden money. That, coupled with the fact that your sister’s wedding ring and the other two pieces you found also went missing, well, it all added up to a mystery.”
He clasped her hands in his and it grounded her swirling emotions.
“I asked myself if there were any patterns to a past crime and realized there were. So...” He released his hands and pulled a couple of slips of paper from his pant pockets. “Take a look.”
With trembling hands, she took the papers and looked down. There. Her—no Raylene’s—bracelet in black-and-white with the unmistakable damnable engraving. “I can’t believe it.”
“Read the description of the other two items. Do they also match what you found and gave Darla?”
“A silver cameo ring and a necklace of colored glass beads. Yes.”
The paper slipped from her numbed hands and fluttered to the floor like a dead thing. “I don’t understand,” she whispered.
“We’ll get to the bottom of it,” he assured her.
Did she want him to? Lilah stood abruptly and began pacing the small kitchen. “Someone put them there,” she mumbled, thinking aloud. “That’s why an intruder broke into the cabin and stalked me at my apartment. They were looking for them.” She whirled and faced Harlan. “Why? Nobody’s going to recognize that stuff after all these years. They’re in no danger.”
“Some killers like to keep a physical connection to their victims, to the memory of the crime.”
“That’s disgusting.” She sat back down and twisted a lock of hair. “And what were they doing in Dad’s cabin? Was he hiding them for someone?”
“Could be,” Harlan said flatly.
“Why would he do such a thing? I don’t get it.”
“Unless the killer was someone very close to him. Someone he loved.”
“He wasn’t all that close to anyone. After Mom left, he became almost as reclusive as Jasper. Never dated, never went out much.”
“He still had family. Brothers, cousins, in-laws. Maybe he was covering for one of them.”
She shook her head. “I can’t see it.”
“There’s another alternative,” he said slowly.
Lilah stared at him, puzzled. “Like maybe the killer saw the abandoned cabin and thought it would be safe to store the jewelry there? But he could’ve kept them wherever they’d been all this time. No one had ever discovered his hiding place before.”
“A highly unlikely scenario. Besides, the killer would want to keep his trophies close by.”
She drummed her fingers on the kitchen table. “The killer could have put it there to frame my dad for the murders.”
“He have any enemies you know of?”
“Not really. He got in plenty of bar fights but those drunken brawls always seemed to blow over.”
“There’s other scenarios here.”
She tapped an index finger to her lips. “Could be the killer wanted to buy a pint of moonshine and didn’t have cash. So he gave the jewelry to Dad as collateral and intended to return on payday.”
“No. Highly unlikely. I still say the killer wouldn’t have parted with the trophies for any length of time.”
“Maybe the moonshine buyer stole the jewelry from the killer.”
“If you’re going to steal, you’d pick an item a lot more valuable than a handful of costume jewelry.”
She threw up her hands. “What’s your theory?”
“There’s another option you haven’t considered.” His voice was soft but pregnant with meaning. Blistering eyes pierced through her fog of confusion.
“If you mean what I think you mean, then you’re one hundred percent wrong!” She jumped up so fast, her chair crashed to the floor.
“Calm down.” Harlan righted the chair and guided her back into it. “At least consider the possibility.”
“My dad wouldn’t have killed anyone! How could you think that? You...you bastard!”
He regarded her impassively. “I’m a cop. If I
see physical evidence, I have to at least consider the obvious conclusion.”
“Damn your logic. You knew my dad. He wasn’t a murderer.” Anger sparked in every synapse of her brain and body. How dare Harlan suggest such a thing!
“Lilah, be reasonable. If you were in my shoes, you’d draw the same conclusion. At least keep an open mind and—”
“No! And don’t tell me to calm down.” Lord, she hated to be told that. Made her ten times as angry.
“It’s not good for you or—”
“Oh, shut up,” she snapped. “What if I accused your father or mother of murder? How would you feel?”
“Maybe you wouldn’t be so far off the mark,” he said enigmatically. His eyes darkened to the blue-blackness of a storm at sea.
“Don’t turn this around on me and play your mind games.”
“I’m not into playing games. I’m dead serious.”
She couldn’t deal with a new set of revelations. Not now. Lilah covered her face with her hands, her entire body trembling with shock.
Harlan stroked her scalp and it felt so good, so comforting. But no, he couldn’t fling wild accusations and expect his touch to bring her around like a stray dog needy for scraps of affection. She removed her hands from her face.
“Dad was not a murderer. I don’t care if he’s the convenient answer for you. Dig deeper.”
“Of course we will. I’m only trying to prepare you for what’s to come.”
“Who all knows about this?”
“Just the two of us.”
“Can we keep it that way?” The moment she asked, Lilah realized the futility of asking Harlan to suppress evidence. She couldn’t ask him to jeopardize his career or compromise his principles. “Never mind.”
“I am sorry. I’ll speak to J.D. first thing in the morning. Maybe we can keep this matter from going public.”
A bitter laugh escaped her throat. “No. It’ll leak, eventually. And Dad’s not here to defend himself. The Tedder name was always mud in these parts, but there’s a world of difference between peddling moonshine and murdering prostitutes.”
“Your true friends will stand by you.”
Appalachian Prey (Lavender Mountain Book 1; Appalachian Magic) Page 8
