by Herron, Rita
“I can’t, Gia, it’s not safe,” he murmured against her ear.
“But Carly might be inside,” she cried, tears pouring freely now.
He rubbed slow circles over her back. “I don’t think so. Think about it. Fire is not this psycho’s MO.”
She sobbed out loud. Hysteria was taking over, not logic, her chest heaving.
“You know I’m right,” Murphy said gruffly. “He’s methodical and plans out his crimes. He likes attention and poses his victims then leaves them, so they’ll be found easily.”
What he was saying was true. But the terror she’d tried to keep at bay since that phone call from her sister obliterated rational thought.
“He would not leave Carly here in a fire,” Murphy said. “She’s more important to him than any of the others because she’s your sister. He has to be keeping her somewhere until he’s ready to finish his game.”
“But where?” Gia cried. “And how? Your men are looking but they have nothing. She could be anywhere. She could even be freezing to death.” She pulled away slightly, enough to look at the fire again. “What if was holding her there, and she set the fire to keep warm and it got out of control?”
“Then she would have come out.”
Gia wanted to believe him. But her sister could have been too weak to escape?
* * *
11:50 a.m., December 19, Tinley
Murphy believed what he’d said. But Gia also had a point.
With the damn blizzard and wind-chill factor plunging, if Carly had been left in that barn, she would have been desperate for heat. She could have somehow set the fire, then the old wood caught, and the flames spread.
A thunderous roar blended with the howling wind. The roof on the barn collapsed, the sides crumbling. Gia gasped, and they both backed up another few feet as heat seared them.
He coaxed her back toward his vehicle. “Get inside and warm up,” he said as he opened the passenger door.
“But —”
“The fire is too hot to see or do anything right now. It has to burn out before anyone can go in.”
Gia wrapped her arms around herself after she climbed in. She was trembling so badly she looked as if she might shatter into pieces.
He closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side. Sliding behind the wheel, he started the engine. The heater burst to life, the windshield fogging over with frost as snow continued to pummel the earth.
Murphy retrieved binoculars from his car, stepped out and walked back toward the barn. In spite of the wind, the heat from the blaze prevented him from getting too close.
But he was anxious himself to know if someone was trapped in that fire.
He aimed the binoculars at the burning barn. The blaze was already dwindling, the wet conditions preventing it from spreading to the nearby trees. He peered through the lenses and scanned the area. Charred wood, straw and debris dotted the snow. A few metal barn tools were piled next to one wall.
Near it, he detected a hump that could be a bale of hay or bag of feed.
Or a body.
His phone buzzed. It was his receptionist, Willa Dean, so he connected. “Sheriff Malone.”
“Sheriff, this may not be anything, but Jim from the county office said Harley, the guy who drives the snowplow, hasn’t called in in hours. Said he plowed real early, then took a break from the elements but was supposed to go out and do the main road again, then the side roads. Jim’s worried something happened to him.”
Murphy tugged his jacket hood up over his snow hat. He’d detected snowplow tracks at Sari’s. And now Harley was missing.
What if the killer had done something to Harley, and then used the snowplow to reach Sari’s place? He could have killed her at her house, then driven away and no one would have suspected a thing.
A fire engine wailed in the distance, and Murphy headed back toward his vehicle. He punched Cody’s number as he ducked inside to warm up.
Gia was watching the flames die down, her face tormented.
Murphy checked in with Cody and filled him in. Cody had been busy helping with an accident and a family trapped in their house where the roof had collapsed.
“Keep an eye out for Harley,” Murphy told Cody as he hung up.
Gia was watching him. “What was that about the snowplow driver?”
“I saw snowplow tracks at Sari’s. Made me wonder if the perp is using it to get around.”
The fire engine careened up the drive and screeched to a halt, and Murphy reached for the door handle. Gia did the same, but he squeezed her hand. “Stay here where it’s warm. I’ll let you know if they find anything.”
If the lump he’d seen in the barn was a body, he wanted to see who it was without alarming Gia.
* * *
12:30 p.m., December 19, Tinley
While the fire team worked the scene, Gia thumbed through her photo album on her phone. She had to do something to distract herself.
Tears pricked her eyes. There were dozens of shots she’d saved of her mother and sister when her mother was alive.
But very few of she and Carly in the last three years. All the birthdays and holidays and vacations they could have spent together, and she’d chosen to throw herself into the job chasing killers instead of seeing her precious sister.
She would never forgive herself if she didn’t find her and bring her home safely.
Drawing in a deep breath, Gia vowed to make it up to her. From now on, she wouldn’t miss a single Christmas, or birthday or holiday.
Her phone buzzed, and she startled, then checked the number. Brantley.
She hit Connect. “Please tell me you have a lead.”
His weary sigh made her stomach plummet. “I’m not sure. I finally got through to the airlines. Dr. Whitman booked a flight to Little Rock, but he didn’t make the flight. So somewhere between that little town of Tinley and the airport, he disappeared.”
“Then he could still be here, hiding out,” Gia said.
“True. I’ve checked all the hotels, motels and inns between the airport and Tinley, and no one by the name of Parker Whitman is registered.”
“He may have registered under a fake name.”
“Already looking into that,” Brantley said. “Our analyst is researching everyone on the registry from all those places, but that’s a good number. It’ll take some time. He’s running background checks on all the males.”
“Did you find out anything else about Whitman?”
“The receptionist at his clinic said he was a mystery to her. That one minute he was charming, especially with the female patients. The next minute he was brooding. Took the divorce hard, said that’s the reason he was moving.”
“Did you talk to the ex?”
“I haven’t been able to reach her, but I’ll keep trying.”
Unease shivered up Gia’s spine. Most serial killers started with a personal target, someone who’d triggered their anger and rage. If Whitman’s wife couldn’t be found, she could have disappeared on her own.
Or she could have been his first victim.
Except he’d left the first ornament attached to Page Gleeson. Not related.
Maybe Page wasn’t his first victim though? Killing his wife could have whetted his appetite for murder.
Her phone beeped in with another call, and she told Brantley to keep her posted, then connected.
“Special Agent Franklin, it’s Inez at Mistletoe Manor.”
“Yes?”
“The sheriff said to call if we saw anyone or anything suspicious, and well, I might have seen something.”
“What is it?”
“It’s one of the guests,” Inez said. “He came in earlier in a rush, and he looked all harried.”
Gia drummed her fingers on her leg. “Go on.”
“I think he had blood on his clothes.”
Her pulse jumped. “Is he still there?”
“Yes, I believe so.” Nervous tension tinged the woman’s voice. “He
ran up the stairs to his room in a hurry, and I haven’t seen him since.”
“What name did he use to register?”
“Ray Folsom.”
“Listen, Inez. If he comes back down, don’t let on that you think anything is off or that you called me,” Gia said. “I’ll be right over.”
“Okay. Please hurry. I don’t like the thought that that horrible killer might be staying here in my inn.”
Neither did she. “Just stay calm. I’m on my way.” As soon as she hung up, she texted Brantley the name Ray Folsom and asked him to investigate the guy.
Then she jumped from the vehicle, wrapped her scarf around her face and trudged through the snow to talk to Murphy. She made it up the hill and had just reached him when she called out his name. He turned to her, but she went bone still.
The firefighters had extinguished what remained of the blaze. And two of them were carrying a body from the ashes.
Chapter Twenty
12:50 p.m., December 19, Tinley
A sense of trepidation needled Murphy as he watched the firefighters carry the body from the remains of the barn toward their truck where they’d already laid out a tarp. The corpse was badly burned, clothes charred and skin so black with soot it was unrecognizable.
“Is it … her?” Gia asked in a choked voice.
Murphy was tempted to lie, but Gia was too smart for that. “I don’t know, so don’t go there yet, Gia. Remember, this is not the killer’s MO.”
She nodded against him although her body was trembling so badly she thought her legs would buckle. Murphy wrapped his arms around and soothed her with soft words.
She clung to him for a moment, then suddenly straightened and tore away from him. Her boots sank in the snow, and she stumbled. Murphy grabbed her arm and the two of them battled their way toward the body together.
By the time they reached it, one of the firefighters was ending a call. “ME is on his way with a transport vehicle.”
Gia stepped closer, but Murphy held her back. “What can you tell about the victim?”
Firefighter Jeremy Rush pushed his helmet up and ran a hand through his sweat soaked hair. Murphy had worked with Jeremy before. In small towns, often people assumed more than one role. Jeremy was trained as an arson investigator. “Nothing much yet. Except the body belongs to a male.”
Gia sagged in relief next to him.
Another firefighter gently raked his gloved fingers over the man’s charred clothing in search of an ID but shook his head, indicating he hadn’t found one.
“Who owned the barn?” Jeremy asked.
“Man named Clyde, but he died two years ago. Farm has been abandoned since.”
“Could be a homeless person seeking shelter from the storm,” Jeremy suggested. “ME will have to run tests and use dental records to identify him.”
Gia straightened, rubbing her arms with her hands to ward off the bitter cold. “Do you know how the fire started or if it was intentional?”
Jeremy shrugged. “Not yet. There was an old propane tank inside along with what looked like some chemicals. We’ll do an investigation when we’re able to sort through it all.”
Gia thanked him, nudged Murphy and explained about the phone call from Inez.
Murphy squared his shoulders. “Can you handle it here and meet the ME?” he asked Jeremy.
“Sure. We have to stay and make sure the fire doesn’t start up again anyway, then search for forensics.”
Murphy clutched Gia’s arm. “Let’s go see this Ray Folsom guy.”
* * *
1:00 p.m., December 19, Tinley
Gia tried to shake the images of the dead man from her mind as Murphy drove toward Mistletoe Inn.
Remembering Murphy’s big strong hands holding her, offering her comfort, rejuvenated her courage, and a flood of longing coursed through her, triggering a memory she’d thought lost forever. She and Murphy had gone sledding the winter they’d dated. She’d been thrilled at the ride and at having an excuse to wrap her arms around Murphy’s waist and hold on. They’d crashed coming down the hill and were half buried in the snow. But oblivious to the cold he’d helped her up then kissed her.
His SUV skidded slightly, jarring her from the memory. He slowed, his hands gripping the steering wheel to keep the vehicle between the lines. They passed a stranded car that had been abandoned on the side of the road. It had nosedived into the ditch and would have to be hauled out.
He pulled off the road and climbed out to make sure no one was inside. His expression looked grim as he returned to the SUV. “Driver left a note saying they’d called a tow, that a trucker came along and gave him a ride to the inn.”
“People are trusting around here, aren’t they?” Gia said wistfully. “Although with a killer in town, I don’t know why.”
“Maybe the driver knew the person who stopped,” Murphy suggested. “Besides, what choice did he have? He wouldn’t last long stranded out in these temperatures.”
“True. It’s just different in Florida. I mean people are friendly. But everyone’s busy with their lives and families and jobs. It’s also a vacation spot, so there are a lot of transients and snowbirds.”
“That would make it difficult to make friends,” Murphy murmured.
“It does,” Gia admitted. “Hard to get invested when you know someone’s leaving.”
His eyes darkened, a tense second stretching between them. Then Murphy seemed to shake off the awkward moment.
“But you like Florida?”
Gia shrugged. At first when she’d moved to the Sunshine State, she’d enjoyed the warm weather and the anonymity. In Tinley, everyone knew everyone’s business.
She hadn’t felt the need to get too close to anyone.
She liked being alone.
But now that thought seemed daunting…
Had she immersed herself in her job because she was too afraid to get involved with a man? With Murphy? Too afraid of losing herself?
Too afraid of losing him?
Up ahead, the sound of an engine cut into the roar of the wind, and Gia saw a car speeding around the corner toward them. The car driver had lost control and the vehicle flew into a spin.
“Hold on.” Murphy swerved to the right to avoid hitting the vehicle head on.
Gia clutched the seat as she was jerked around, then was slammed against the passenger door. The impact wrenched her shoulder. Murphy cursed and held on tight to the wheel in an attempt to keep from crashing.
He scraped the edge of the tree but managed to stay on the road. The other car barreled across the highway and careened toward the embankment. Brakes squealed, and the car slammed into the ditch, the front-bumper crunching.
Murphy veered to the side and parked, then jumped out running. She tugged her scarf around her face, and followed, boots chugging through the snow, her breath coming out in pants as she fought the force of the wind.
By the time she reached the sedan, Murphy was opening the driver’s door. Gia made it to the vehicle just as he cleared away the air bag.
A young woman with long dark hair was slumped forward, blood on her forehead and trickling down the side of her face. Murphy pressed two fingers to the woman’s neck to check for a pulse. A second later, he gave a little nod that she was alive.
Gia clenched her phone. “I’ll call an ambulance.”
“It’ll be faster if we take her to the hospital.”
He raked the woman’s hair from her face. “It's Lori Everland from the hair salon.” He gently rubbed her back. “Lori, can you hear me? It’s Sheriff Malone.”
The young woman moaned, then moved her head slightly, opened her eyes and squinted up at Murphy. “What happened?”
“You lost control and had an accident,” Murphy said. “Are you okay? Does anything hurt? Your neck? Your legs?”
She appeared disoriented but raised a hand to her temple. Her fingers came away sticky with blood. Glass from the windshield had shattered on impact, and dotted her coat, the
seat and floor.
“I’m okay. My chest just hurts.”
“The force of the air bag probably bruised your ribs,” Murphy said. “If you’re okay to move, I’ll drive you to the hospital.”
The young woman nodded, and Murphy cut away the seat belt, then scooped her into his arms. Gia reached inside and retrieved Lori’s purse and phone. Lori groaned but wrapped her arms around Murphy’s neck, and Gia and Murphy plowed through the snow back to his SUV.
Gia snagged a blanket from the trunk, along with Murphy’s first-aid kit. Murphy settled Lori in the back, and Gia climbed in beside her. Then he crawled in the driver’s seat, started the engine and fired up the heater.
Gia pressed a clean gauze strip to the cut on Lori’s forehead then examined it. “The cut doesn’t look too deep. But you may need a couple of stitches.”
“Thanks,” Lori whispered. “I guess it was stupid to be driving in this.”
“Why were you?” Gia asked.
The young woman bit her bottom lip. “I heard the report about Sari. Then I heard a banging sound behind my house. The trash can lid bounced across the yard, and the windows rattled. Then I saw a shadow on my deck and heard someone jiggling the doorknob.” Her chest heaved. “I got spooked and didn’t want to be alone, so I decided to go to my friend’s house for the night.”
Gia patted her arm. “Well, you’re safe now.” Except she’d panicked.
Or had she?
Had the killer decided to sneak inside her place to ride out the weather? Or had he planned to take Lori as his next victim?
* * *
1:30 p.m., December 19, Tinley
Murphy pulled up to the hospital ER and parked, his gut churning. It had taken him almost half an hour to drive the seven miles to the hospital.
Thank God Lori hadn’t been seriously injured.
Admiration for Gia mounted. In spite of the fact that she was terrified for her sister and on the hunt for a serial killer, she’d comforted the other woman and kept a level head.
