by D. K. Hood
“This would tell me not only an organized psychopath but a controlled psychopath.” Kane’s mouth formed a thin line. “There’s no frenzied attack, both murders are methodical and well planned. We’ve one of the most dangerous of psychopaths in our midst. Most follow a pattern and this one is random and impossible to predict.”
A cold chill crawled over Jenna. “Then there’s the earrings. One left at each crime scene.” She chewed on her bottom lip. “It’s deliberate. It has to be. Maybe they’re a trophy from a previous crime?”
“It must tie the two murders together.” Kane stared into space. “It’s all part of the big picture inside the killer’s mind, like a jigsaw puzzle. We just have to find more pieces. It’s as if he’s laying out clues for us like in a game. Maybe this is the conference game? Us against an organized psychopath.”
“Oh, I hope not.” Jenna rubbed her arms, suddenly cold. “I’m sick of being dragged into criminals’ delusional minds.”
She watched Wolfe and Kane roll the victim into a body bag. Once zipped up, Wolfe moved around, taking samples of blood from every location. “Anything we can do to help?”
“Call Webber and see how close he is. I told him to come directly here as soon as he could get through the back road.” He straightened and looked at Jenna. “I’ll take the hammer and the nail gun with me as well. We’ll have to seal this chalet. I’m not finished with it yet.” He huffed out a cloud of steam and shook his head. “I’ll do what I can to get formal IDs of the bodies and then you can notify the next of kin.” He waved a hand toward the door. “This weather slows down everything.”
A phone buzzed and everyone checked their pockets.
“It’s me.” Wolfe stared at the screen. “Where are you, Colt?” He paused a beat. “Uh-huh, look out for Kane, he’ll guide you in.” He disconnected and looked at Kane. “He’s on the road looking for the entrance. Can you go find him?”
“Sure.” Kane put on his sunglasses, pulled up his hood, and vanished into the snow.
Jenna sighed. “You head off with Colt, we’ll grab the girls’ bags and take them back to the lodge.”
“Keep a close eye on them for me.” Wolfe looked suddenly anxious. “Trust me, when it comes to killers, those two are like magnets.”
Seventeen
Darkness presses against the windows, trapping us inside. There’s no moon and only the continuous fall of snow—and the hoot of an owl to break the monotony. Heat from the many woodfires, warms my exposed flesh as I move around, enjoying the scents and flavors of the conference. The smell of books is everywhere, and tables stacked high with the latest volumes adorn the hallways manned by sellers. Authors’ images are displayed like in a hall of fame, each with their current bestseller and the times of their readings and book signings. The atmosphere is electric, exciting. People here are like me on the outside—they may write, edit, publish, or read the fine art of murder—but I live it.
I walk through the hall, deciding which author I should grace with my presence. You see, not all are bestselling authors and lucky enough to attract a line of people waiting for an autograph. There are others who arrived with suitcases filled with copies of their books hoping to sell one, or maybe two, and are desperate for me to stop by their table. I’ve been watching them and a few have appealed to me, but some, I must admit, make no effort to attract readers. I know being an author can make one impoverished. The long wait between book advances, or no sales, can grind a person down, but my urge to kill rises at the sight of one woman, hiding behind a pile of books, stuffing her face with cream donuts. The cream hangs on her chin in a grotesque dripple. She gives all of us trying to succeed a bad name. I wish I could slip her out the back door and strangle her, but I must concentrate on being the social butterfly. I want to be noticed for the time when the sheriff mentions my name to witnesses and asks, “Did you see this person?”
An alibi is a nonnegotiable asset for someone like me, so I move through the crowd, nodding here, smiling there until I see someone I recognize. Ah yes, Julie. The sweet-as-honey blonde creature is used to getting what she wants. I slid by when she spoke to the medical examiner to eavesdrop. From the demands she made and the exasperated expression on the poor man’s face, he must be her father. His refusal to allow her to stay had been valid, considering I’m here as a constant unknown threat, but as soon as she batted those long eyelashes, he melted like snowflakes on a log fire. She hasn’t meant more to me than an excuse for an alibi but something about her has changed since the last time I saw her. My attention fixes on the way she’s touching her hair. As she curls a lock around a red-tipped finger the image of my mother’s face catapults across my vision. I am back in time, a vulnerable child, with no one to hear me. I hated my mother’s bleached-blonde hair and long red fingernails. She took my dignity and spent it like a commodity, only thinking of herself, her next drink, or new pair of shoes. Countless men came to our house. So many insisted I call them Daddy or Uncle. I’ll never forget the sea of faces, or the first one I killed. The warm blood on my flesh, the smell as they breathed their last, and the horrified expression on their face was a relief. At last, I’d gained my voice.
The room comes back into focus, chatter fills my ears, and the warm smell of bodies and woodsmoke bring me back to my senses. It’s just as well. I have things to do, but my attention keeps slipping back to Julie. She’s become an insatiable magnet and my fingers tingle at the thought of closing them around her slender neck. It would be so satisfying to look into her big gray eyes and see my face reflected in her confusion as I squeeze the life from her. I smile to myself. You see, once I’m done with my list, I’ll have time to play. A literary conference is supposed to be fun, right?
Eighteen
After returning with their bags, Jenna took a hot shower and changed out of her damp clothes. She added them to Kane’s pile and arranged to have them picked up by the hotel laundry service. She headed back into the cozy sitting room that joined the two bedrooms together and waited for Kane to finish feeding Duke. He’d walked him, rubbed him down, and settled him in front of the fire on his blanket before heading for the shower. She loved seeing this gentle side of Kane. He cared for their animals so well, making doubly sure each one of them was always loved and happy. Even Pumpkin, who really wasn’t a social cat, would curl around his neck when they watched TV. A pang of regret grabbed her. He’d make a great father, but would he risk marrying again?
“Everything okay?” Kane had caught her staring at him. “You have that faraway look again. Have you any conclusions on the case?”
Jenna’s cheeks heated. “I’d like to hear what everyone discovered today before I make any conclusions.” Deciding to be honest with him, she sighed. “Then there’s the autopsies, but I wasn’t thinking about the case. I love seeing this side of you. You know, the way you care for the animals. I was thinking you’d make a great dad is all.”
“The thought has crossed my mind, Jenna.” Kane straightened and walked to her. “In fact, I think about the future a lot these days.”
The phone rang and Jenna let out an exasperated sigh and went to pick up the receiver. “Sheriff Alton.”
“It’s Emily. Do you want me and Zac to hang around so you can bring us up to speed?” Emily sucked in a breath. “The reason being, we booked a table for dinner at seven for all of us and it’s six now.”
Jenna pushed the hair from her face and thought for a beat. “Are you dressed for dinner? We are, or do you need time to go change? And where is Julie? We’re supposed to be keeping an eye on the pair of you.”
“Oh really?” Emily sounded annoyed. “Dad still thinks we’re kids. He trusts me in the lab but not in a ski lodge. It doesn’t make any sense.”
Blowing out a breath, Jenna rolled her eyes at Kane. “It’s not that your dad doesn’t trust you, Em. It’s because we have someone on the premises killing people. Shane doesn’t want to get a call to find out one of you has been murdered. I can see his point. I’m armed
and you’re not. It wouldn’t be the first time one of you has been targeted. He’s just being cautious.”
“Okay, sure. I see your point, but as neither of us is involved in the publishing business, like both of the victims, I hardly think we have to worry.” Emily sighed. “So, do you want us to wait for you in the suite or meet you in the lobby and go to dinner together?”
“We’re on our way to the suite. See you in five.” Jenna replaced the receiver. “We’ll need to go and speak to the team. They’ve booked a table for dinner at seven.” She pushed the room keycard in her pocket and headed for the door.
In the suite, Jenna pulled up the files. She and Kane gave them details of their suspects’ interviews and then listened to Rio’s account of the interviews from Bexley Grayson and September March. “So, conclusions?”
“Grayson is an unknown quantity. He’s a façade. He’s trying to fit in with a younger crowd—fake tan, so much Botox—he has no expression, too white teeth. He reminds me of a fast-talking car salesman depicted in the movies. He named people who saw him around during the murders, Julie being one of them. I think he’s a creep.” Rio opened his hands. “September March is a nut job. Away with the pixies and, yeah, she’d slit your throat without a second thought.”
Concerned, Jenna highlighted both suspects on her list. “What about your suspect, Em?”
“Parker Rain, seems pretty levelheaded. I asked her if she knows Dakota Storm or Longfellow. She said that she and Dakota were both trying to sign an author, Joel Stanley, who’d written two books, Frozen in Time and Body in a Frozen Lake. Dakota apparently had an editor all steamed up about the story and could literally offer the guy a deal from the get-go. As Parker was offered the manuscript first, she feels cheated that Dakota signed the author, especially as the first one has sold over a million copies and the second even more.” Emily raised both eyebrows. “So as Dakota was found in a frozen pond, it seems like a very strange coincidence. I figure we need to keep Parker Rain on the list too.”
“Wolfe’s interview with August Bradford didn’t get us anywhere either.” Kane stared at Wolfe’s notes. “Bradford was dropped by Dakota at the end of last year. He’s here trying to get a new agent. His comment to Wolfe was that he hopes Dakota rots in hell.”
Pushing both hands through her hair, Jenna stared down at the list. “Six suspects. I’ll contact Bobby Kalo and ask him to dig deep. I want to know what these people have been doing, whatever state they live in, and he’s the best person for the job.” She composed an email and sent it away with all the details she had on each suspect and then turned off her iPad. “Until Wolfe confirms the victims’ IDs and conducts the autopsies, we’re in limbo. As soon as we’ve contacted the next of kin, Rio can write up a media report that says virtually nothing. I don’t want to panic people but I’ll need to keep them as safe as possible.”
“When you’re moving around the resort, listen and keep your eyes open.” Kane looked at Emily and Rio. “One of the suspects will slip up, boast or do something. We’ll need to be ready for them. I just hope whoever did this is stopping at two, but if this is a vendetta, they might strike again at any time and we need to be ready.”
“Okay, I’ll talk to Julie.” Emily’s blonde eyebrows met in a frown. “She’ll be in the midst of them, now that she’s staying and she’s gotten tickets to everything. The passes the convention organizers gave Dad to allow us to move around during the investigation also get us into everywhere free of charge.” She looked at Jenna. “They didn’t want us parading around wearing our coroner’s jackets.”
“I see.” Jenna stood. “They want us to keep a low profile, no doubt.” She glanced at her watch. “Let’s head down to eat now. Is Julie meeting us there?”
“Yeah.” Emily walked beside her to the elevator. “It feels weird being trapped inside a hotel with a killer on the loose.” She looked over her shoulder at Kane. “I’m sure glad our room is next to yours, Dave.” She shuddered. “If someone creeps into my room, you’ll come running, right?”
“Sure.” Kane smiled at her.
Concern suddenly dropped over Jenna for the girls’ welfare. She held the elevator door as they all stepped inside, but she gave Emily an encouraging smile. “We both will. Don’t worry.”
Nineteen
Kitty Pandora checked the time, it was close to ten and it had been a long day. She’d undressed and put on her robe before heading into the bathroom to run the tub. The idea that someone below her social status had offered to send up a bottle of champagne amused her. For heaven’s sake, the old acquaintance acted as if she owed them something. She ran her fingers through the bubbling suds and smiled. Kitty’s room was very luxurious. Her husband was a very wealthy man, and she deserved to be the best author his money could buy. Oh, she came up with the ideas, usually based on her own extravagant lifestyle and, she had to admit, gleaned from every book or TV show she’d enjoyed. Every word of her manuscript had been polished and primed by the best editors her husband could employ. She’d pitched them to a host of literary agents and had always been rejected until, at a time of vulnerability, she’d reached out for help to a fellow author who had the ability to write an engaging pitch letter. The offer of help had come as an act of compassion and done the trick. After all, as a person of standing, she deserved to be published. Now, she just had to make a bestsellers list. She’d encouraged all the workers in her husband’s employ to buy her books and vote for every coveted readers’ award available until she’d gained one. When she’d volunteered to do an authors’ workshop free of charge at the convention, how could they have possibly refused? People would flock to see her. After all, being the best had its own attraction.
The room filled with fragrant steam and piles of foam bubbled to the lip of the tub. Kitty sighed as she turned off the tap. She dried her hands, took out the hairdryer, and checked to see if it was working before placing it beside the basin. She searched her makeup bag for products she’d need to style her hair. After removing her watch, she shrugged. The offer of champagne was obviously a lie, but then she didn’t believe her friend had the money to buy champagne. She walked into the sitting room and poured a glass of white wine and headed back to the bathroom. The tub looked inviting and after placing the wine on the edge of the tub, she turned to remove her makeup and peered at her reflection. Condensation covered the mirror and, irritated, she grabbed a towel to wipe it clean. As the mist cleared, she gaped in horror. Someone was standing right behind her.
She opened her mouth to scream and then recognized her friend’s strange twisted smile. Annoyed, Kitty glared at the reflection. “How did you get into my room—and where’s my bubbly?”
“What an ungrateful excuse for a person you are.” Her friend leaned casually against the vanity and lifted a pistol and aimed it at her. “Get into the tub.”
Heart thundering in her chest, Kitty stood her ground. Nobody gave her orders and not this lowlife. “I’m not getting naked in front of you.”
“Well as sure as hell, I’m not turning my back.” Her friend waved the pistol. “You’re an author. Use your imagination. Once you’re in the suds I won’t see a thing.”
Terror gripping her, Kitty tried to reason with them. “But the water is getting cold.”
“Do I look like I care?” Her friend’s lips quivered into a grin. “Better hurry.”
Unnerved by the pistol aimed at her, Kitty stepped into the tub, turned her back, disrobed and dropped down, sinking to the shoulders in the rich foam. She pulled the suds around her. “Now what?”
“Duck under and wash your hair.” The intruder pressed the muzzle to her head. “Hurry, we need to talk.”
Trembling with fear, Kitty complied. “Okay now say what you need to say and leave and I won’t tell anyone you broke into my room.”
“You’re in no position to bargain with me, Kitty.” Her acquaintance took a nonchalant pose. “You’ve used people all your life, haven’t you? Bought your way rather than earned it.
Most of the unpublished authors here have more talent in their little finger than you will ever have. The talent to write is a gift and not something you can buy. You can go to all the classes you like, employ the best editors, and attend all the seminars, but the magic comes from inside. Your first mistake was writing about yourself. You see, nobody cares because you’ve never actually achieved anything on your own merit.”
Annoyed, Kitty shook her head. “That’s not true, my published book is about a wealthy woman crime fighter. I’m not a detective, so how could it be me?” She pulled more suds around her. The water was cooling fast. “I’ve done a ton of things in my life. All my friends admire me.”
“Have you ever heard of the expression cupboard love? No?” Her acquaintance grinned broadly. “It means when people visit, pretending they’re friends to get handouts. They believe if they crawl up your ass, they’ll get something from you, but that’s not the case, is it? You see, I know you for what you really are and, in a crisis, you’d step over a dying child to save yourself.” Her friend put down the revolver and picked up the hairdryer. “This brings back memories. I’ve read the back cover of Frizzled. That was an idea I brainstormed with you for my own story. It was such a great idea to electrocute someone with a hairdryer. Why did you steal it? That could’ve been my breakthrough novel.”
