by Lisa Jackson
She scowled. “Nothing that’s of any help. The bullet in the wall was the same caliber as the Sperry gun that’s still missing. None of the victim’s friends or relatives could say a bad word about her. You know, all of a sudden Violet Sperry became a saint. We’re still checking phone records and going through her computers. So far it looks like she was really into her dogs, spent a lot of time on blogs and websites for Cavalier King Charles spaniels. The husband was into online gambling and some porn.” She rolled her eyes. “As near as we can tell, the last person to see her was a pizza delivery guy; we found half of a cheese and pepperoni pizza in her fridge. The delivery guy arrived at six thirty-seven, the same time she paid for it with her debit card, according to bank records, which, so far, have shown nothing out of the ordinary. Before that, she went to a yoga class at two, but the instructor says she always kept to herself, just came in and did her routine, then left. No yoga buddies that we could see. Just an ordinary day.”
“That ended with her being tossed over the stairs with blue tape across her eyes.”
“Painter’s tape, by the way. The kind you can get at any paint store or a place like Home Depot. Another needle in a haystack. There were partially used paint cans in the Sperrys’ garage, but no rolls of blue tape.”
“The killer could have picked one up as he entered.”
“Possibly, but it seems random; doesn’t make a lot of sense to come to the scene intending to blindfold someone, then think, ‘Darn, I forgot, but, oh, hey, here’s a roll of tape in the garage.’ ”
“Point taken. No latents on the tape?”
“Nope. Didn’t get that lucky.” She was as frustrated as he and now they had a second murder. “So tell me. Quinn. What did you find out about him?”
“Doesn’t exist.” He finished his coffee. “At least not that I can find. But we’re searching for him and his car and his dog.”
“Good luck with that.”
Livvie returned to top off their cups, then bustled off as the diner began to fill up. Along with the morning crowd came another waitress, who, in contrast to Livvie, looked dead on her feet. She couldn’t keep from yawning as she started moving through the tables.
As Cade shifted in his seat the scents of frying bacon, brewing coffee, and warm maple syrup wafted through the restaurant. He was hungrier than he’d realized. When he saw a platter of pancakes and eggs pass, his stomach grumbled. “You sure you don’t want breakfast?” he asked.
Kayleigh drained her cup. “Can’t. Gotta run.” She’d just checked her phone and was reaching for her Mariners cap. “But you? Knock yourself out.” Scooting out of the booth, she said, “Keep me in the loop.”
“You, too. Wait. Don’t you need a ride?” He started to get up.
“No. I’ll walk.” She paused at the side of the table, fingers resting on its edge.
“I can give you a lift.”
She placed a hand on his arm. “Really,” she said. “It’s not that far and I could use the exercise. Besides, I need to think. I think best when I walk.”
“I don’t like it.”
“Tough.” She met his worried gaze, let her hand slide away from his sleeve. “Seriously, I’ll be fine.”
He hesitated, then saw that she wasn’t about to be talked out of it, so he sat again.
Under the harsh globe lights, she looked down at him. “Take care, Ryder,” she said in a moment of tenderness, then slipped her ponytail through the opening in the back of her cap. “And thanks for the coffee. Don’t forget to leave the server a nice tip.”
CHAPTER 25
“Oh my God, oh my God, is it true?” Lila was almost screaming from the other end of the wireless connection.
Seated at her computer, Rachel decided she’d made a mistake answering what she knew was the inevitable call.
Lila sounded as if she was bordering on hysteria. “Is Annessa really dead? Murdered? Oh my God, I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it. I was working out, you know, my in-home routine, and the news was on and . . . oh, holy crap, there it was. At first they were saying that the police had to wait to identify the victim until the next of kin had been informed, but then they must’ve told Clint, because then they said it was Annessa Cooper and oh my God. . . . And it was at St. Augustine’s, right next door to Charles’s offices. And then Lucas came down and said he’d gotten a wild text from Xander saying that he and Harper had found her hanging in the bell tower! Oh my God, oh my God. This is terrible. Horrible. And after Violet . . . oh, wow.” A pause as a thought seemed to occur to her. “Wait a second. Are the murders connected? I bet they are, I just bet they are. They have to be! I didn’t immediately go there. I mean, who would want to think that a serial killer is here in Edgewater? Killing off the class of . . . oh, they have to be connected.”
“Cade thinks they could be.”
“Of course they are. So you’ve talked to him?” She sounded surprised.
“He brought Harper back last night.”
“Oh. Oh. Geez, Rach.” A pause and then a deep breath. Rachel guessed she’d found another “just for emergencies” cigarette. “Then . . . what happened? The details were sketchy on the news, mainly just that she was found in the chapel. I can’t believe it.” Another drag and a long breath as she exhaled.
“I did. Yeah. We talked,” Rachel said, but decided not to go into detail. “But Cade didn’t say too much. Just what you heard on the news.”
“This is awful! Chuck is beside himself and Lucas is freaked. Freaked! I mean, you can imagine, it’s his friend and cousin who found Annessa. It’s his fault that Xander is up here in the first place.” She was winding up. “Another classmate? I mean, what are the chances? Does someone have a thing against us? Against our reunion?”
“I don’t think—”
“And the committee. What about the reunion committee? Annessa was in charge of the money.... Oh no. And she was one of the signers on the bank account. It takes two signatures, you know. But I’m on it and Reva, too . . . oh, God. This is going to complicate things. I’ll have to find someone else to handle the money for the registration. Oh! Maybe you could take charge. You’re already trying to find the classmates who are missing—”
“Oh, hey, wait. No.”
“But—”
“Lila, stop! As you said, two classmates are dead, murdered, and my daughter discovered Annessa. . . . It’s a madhouse around here.”
“Oh. Right. Sorry. I heard about the vandalism, but this could be a good distraction for you. It would be easy for an organized person like you.”
“Find someone else!” Rachel said with more vehemence than she’d intended as Reno stood and stretched, then trotted to the top of the stairs. “I can’t. And I really can’t think about the reunion right now.”
“But she was a classmate!” Another pause. Another drag. “I don’t have anyone to handle the remembrance table and now . . . now we have another name to add. Oh my God, this is so damned sad.”
“Very. You know, Lila—”
“And scary as all get-out. To think two members of our class have been killed in the past week. It makes you think twice, you know.”
Did she ever. Reno whined and headed down the steps. Rachel pushed back her chair and followed. “You might consider postponing the reunion or maybe not even having it at all,” she said as she reached the main floor and lowered her voice as the kids were still sleeping.
“What?” Lila gasped. “No! Are you crazy?”
“Are you? Think about what’s gone on.”
“But it’s the twenty-year reunion. A biggie.”
“You could wait until twenty-five.”
“No! No way. We’ve all put too much work into it. Look, Rachel, I realize you’re upset with everything that’s gone on, but we have to keep going, you know. Just keep going. We’re not stopping it or postponing it, but we might have to have another emergency meeting. Losing Annessa at this point is a big deal.”
“She’s not lost, Lila; she’s
dead. Someone killed her.”
“I know . . . I mean, I’m not trying to be insensitive, just practical. So, Friday night here. I’ll let the committee heads know.” And she disconnected, leaving Rachel with her phone to her ear.
She couldn’t believe it. Lila was still going on with life, the damned reunion, as if nothing had happened. Oh, sure, she’d been shocked and upset, but she was willing to brush the two brutal murders under the rug in order to keep the celebration of their class on track. Two murders!
“It’s sick,” Rachel said to the dog as he pawed at the back door. She let him outside and tried to shake off the feeling of dread that had seeped into her bones. She was dead tired, hadn’t been able to sleep, and had decided to give the kids a break, especially Harper. Neither would go to school today; Rachel had already e-mailed their teachers for homework assignments, and so she’d let them sleep, checking in on them twice, just to make certain they were safely in their beds.
They were still asleep, even though it was now after ten.
The day had dawned murky, with a fog that had rolled through the town, thickening as the hours had passed. Now, she could barely see the fence line.
She poured herself a cold cup of coffee from the pot, then heated the cup in the microwave. Her eyes were gritty from lack of sleep, a headache was starting to form, and though she’d tried to answer e-mails this morning and work on updating a website for a local wine shop, she hadn’t had the energy. Her mind had wandered back to Annessa and Violet and their deaths.
Why?
Who?
She set her now steaming cup of coffee on the kitchen table and scrolled across the screen of her phone to get online. The Tuesday edition of the newspaper had dropped, and as promised, it was filled with more stories about the cannery. The front page alone had four stories directly or indirectly linked to the Sea View fish-packing plant. The first article that caught Rachel’s eye was a bio: “Who Was Luke Hollander?”
The text was thin, as no one from Luke’s immediate family had commented on the years Luke was a youth, growing up in the Gaston household. There were no direct quotes from either Melinda or Ned, and Rachel hadn’t provided any fodder when Mercedes had pressed during the aborted interview at her office. To help fill in the blanks of Luke’s life, Mercedes had relied on information from friends, teachers, and coaches. Some anonymous source described as someone “close to the family” had been quoted describing Luke’s home life.
Her mother would be devastated when she read the story.
“Great,” Rachel said.
The second article was all about the cannery’s history, how the plant had been built near the turn of the last century when salmon were fished in gill nets, before the tuna industry swelled. It mentioned how Sea View had grown to become a major employer in the area and then how it had slowly declined to eventually close, making note that it was the scene of a horrid tragedy twenty years earlier.
A third article was entitled “Waterfront Development Seeks to Restore and Renew.” The half-page story was a typical hopeful account of a new developer seeking to restore the old cannery building. That article showed some computer renderings of a shopping mall that reminded her of a tourist attraction from Portland or Seattle, as well as floor plans of apartments in the waterfront building and listed Bell Cooper and Associates as the developer. Clint Cooper was even quoted, bragging that the new shops, condos, and businesses would “breathe new life back to this part of Oregon.” He’d obviously been quoted before his wife had been murdered.
But homicide hadn’t eluded the Edgewater Edition. The final story was front and center, an article about Violet Sperry’s murder. The story itself was just a factual analysis of the crime, but Mercy did manage to work in that Violet had been present that tragic night at the Sea View cannery and had been a witness in the subsequent investigation involving the shooting.
“Nice tie-in,” Rachel thought aloud.
Next to the text was a picture of Violet Sperry seated on an oversized chair and surrounded by her three small dogs, all with long ears and doe-soft eyes.
Rachel’s throat tightened and she had to slide her gaze away from the photograph.
Skimming the rest of the paper, she found nothing on Annessa’s murder, of course, as it had happened too late for the paper’s deadline. As she looked for an updated version that mentioned Annessa, a text came from Cade asking about the kids: Harper okay?
Rachel texted back: Still asleep. I gave them the day off from school.
Cade: Good. I left texts for her and Dylan. Will call later.
Rachel: Any news about what happened to Annessa?
Cade: Not yet. Security guys coming?
She cringed inwardly and texted: Decided to order one online—self-install. Should be here later in the week.
Cade: OK. TTYL
She’d lied, of course, but quickly took the time to pick out and order an updated system, one with digital cameras that would work through a phone app. Only when she was done did she realize that Reno hadn’t scratched at the door to be let in. Pushing back her chair, she glanced out the slider. Reno wasn’t in his usual spot.
She went to the door and called for him, waiting for the dog to appear, but no tawny beast emerged from the yard. “Come on,” she said again and gave a sharp whistle.
Still nothing. “Reno? Reno, come!” Her voice was sharp and irritated as she slid into her gardening clogs and stepped onto the wet grass.
“Where are you?” Sleep deprived, she was already on edge, the lack of visibility only heightening her anxiety. And she didn’t need to be playing hide-and-seek with a rambunctious dog. “Come on, boy.”
Searching the gloom, Rachel walked the line of the shrubs and plants, all the little markers the dog favored, but she didn’t see any hint of a wagging tail or shiny eyes peering through the mist.
“Reno?” She was starting to get a bad feeling about this, but steadfastly tamped it down. The dog loved to play catch-me-if-you-can at times. “Come!”
Nothing.
Don’t freak.
He’s here. He’s got to be.
Or...
She walked to the side yard and the gate that was rarely opened except when they were mowing the lawn as it was on the far side of the house, and, sure enough, it wasn’t latched. The resulting span, a six-inch gap, was perfect for the dog to slip through. Her heart jolted. Not only was the gate never left open, but Reno wasn’t likely to roam far. She thought of the weird text and the ugly message written on her door. And then there were the murders....
Goose bumps traveled up her arms.
Don’t go there!
“Reno, come!” She moved carefully through mist, squinting at shadows and cursing the ever-changing weather. No sign of the dog in the side yard. Her heart was thudding. She thought about rousting the kids for help, but she didn’t want to take the time. And she didn’t want to disturb the neighbors.
Her voice was stern, commanding, hiding the panic in her heart. “You come!”
Nothing.
No response.
The garden beds in front of the house were empty. Time to trespass to the Pitts’ house. Gingerly, she crept onto their lush grass. She checked the shadows by the rock wall and the fat pots of impatiens on either side of their porch.
No dog.
She moved on to the next house, the Giordanos’. Didn’t know them well. She hoped they weren’t watching her stalk through their yard. “Reno!”
And then she heard it, a low, anxious moan.
She froze.
Reno? Or . . .
Through the fog, she heard the rustle of leaves behind her. Her heart stilled. Why the devil hadn’t she brought her pepper spray or . . . She spun, squinting into the garden, and saw the movement of a tail whipping frantically at the base of a thick hydrangea bush, the silhouette of her shepherd mix visible.
The dog was moaning anxiously, running to the fence, standing on his back legs. He gave a sharp, anxious bark, and
from high above, hidden in the fog, came the returning chatter of a squirrel.
“Oh. Geez. You nearly gave me a heart attack,” she said. “Reno, come. Now.” Two dark eyes appeared as the dog bounded up to her, all innocence and playfulness. “Not in the mood,” Rachel said, relief chasing away her fears. “Come on. Let’s go.” She snapped her fingers and Reno kept up with her as they headed to the front of the Giordanos’ property. “You scared the hell out of me, you know,” she scolded, but the dog just trotted beside her, tongue lolling, tail in the air.
Rachel moved quickly now, this time in the street to avoid trampling anyone’s lawn or flowers. She went back through the side gate and, mentally berating herself for being such a ninny, she secured the latch.
That was when she saw the footprint. Large. Distinctive. The impression of a boot or shoe in the bark dust near the gatepost. It hadn’t been there the night the door was vandalized. Right? Surely she would have seen it. She considered all the times she’d felt that she was being watched, that some voyeur was eyeing her, and her skin crawled again.
It’s a footprint. Nothing more. Maybe made by Dylan or one of his friends? Even that seems a stretch.
Get a hold of yourself!
Gritting her teeth, telling herself that she was overreacting, she followed Reno to the back porch and into the kitchen again.
Harper was waiting in pajamas, her hair a mess, her eyes sunken. “Where’d you go?” she asked, opening a cupboard and searching for a cup.
“Reno got out. Hey, you, wait!” she ordered the dog, who was dancing around Harper, tail wagging madly. Rachel grabbed a towel she kept on a hook in the closet near the back door for general dog cleanup and attempted to wipe Reno’s wet paws. She was only partially successful. “Hold on, Reno. You’re making this impossible.”
“God, you talk to the dog, like, all the time.”
“So you’ve said, over and over. It’s normal, by the way.”
“Whatever.” Harper retrieved a cup.
“Did you leave the gate open?” she asked. “Last night when you were sneaking out? And did Xander come to the house?”
