The First Victim

by JB Lynn

  The monitors were now beeping and blinking wildly. It would only be a matter of moments before a concerned nurse bustled in.

  He flicked the ash from his cigarette onto Wright’s chest. “Too bad you can’t warn them. Too bad you won’t be able to keep them safe.”

  Hearing footsteps approaching in the hallway, he flicked off his flashlight.

  The idiot nurse didn’t even notice the glow of his cigarette when she hurried into the room. He slipped out, leaving Wright alone with his worries.

  Emily woke up alone.

  A quick scan of the room revealed that Bailey was gone, having slipped out sometime during the night. She tried to ignore the disappointment that flooded through her. Over the years she’d done her share of skipping out on sleeping lovers, and last night she’d been the one to say there was no future for her and Bailey. No promises.

  Now there were no “what ifs” either. She knew what it was like to spend the night in his arms. She’d never again wonder what she was missing out on. Now she knew.

  The knowing was definitely worse. The sex had been even better than she’d ever imagined. She’d never fit with someone so completely. Sure she’d had guys whom she’d been sexually compatible with, but nothing had prepared her for the magic of being with Bay. The physicality had been exceptional, but it was the emotional connection, the feeling that two souls were engaged in the act of making love, that had caught her off guard.

  Her eyes filled with tears. The idea that her future would be devoid of that experience caused a physical ache in her chest.

  Three quick knocks on her bedroom door jolted her out of her pity party.

  “Emily?” Laurie sounded more like a little girl than a teenager.

  “Coming.” Emily dashed away her tears and quickly smoothed the sheets and blankets as though to remove the evidence of the previous night’s encounter. “Just a sec!” She pulled on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt to cover her vulnerable nakedness. Doing her best to plaster on a smile, she opened the door, dimly aware that she couldn’t remember the last time she hadn’t had to throw the three deadbolts to unlock it. “Morning, Laurie.”

  Her sister, dark circles rimming her eyes, held out a mug. “I made you coffee.”

  “Thank you.” Emily took the cup knowing it wasn’t a beverage as much as an olive branch. “What time is it?”

  “Seven.”

  “Do you want breakfast?” Eager to get away from the bedroom and the memories of her earlier tryst, she pushed past the younger girl and made her way down the hall. “I can make you eggs, or waffles, if you’d prefer.”

  “Waffles sound great! Can we have them with chocolate chips? I’ll help!” Laurie galloped down the stairs, heading for the kitchen.

  Watching her go, Emily marveled that she had the opportunity to watch her sister navigating the balance between being a child and becoming a young woman. Slowly, she marched down the stairs.

  The kitchen phone rang, and her stomach lurched. Who would be calling this early? Suddenly apprehensive she picked up her pace.

  “Hello?” Laurie’s voice, as sweet as a songbird, trilled through the house as Emily hurried into the kitchen.

  “No, sorry she’s not here.” Laurie covered the mouthpiece and whispered, “Anna’s mom.”

  Kitty Cartwheel. Why would she be calling this early? Emily’s palm began to itch. Had something happened to Anna?

  Laurie, suddenly serious, held out the phone. “She wants to talk to you.”

  Emily took the phone. “Kitty?”

  Kitty was damn near hysterical. “Anna and I had a fight last night and I just went to wake her and she’s not in her room. Her bed looks like it wasn’t even slept in. I need to find her. Can you ask Laurie if she’s there?”

  “Sure. Hold on.” Emily tucked the phone against her shoulder and looked Laurie in the eye. “Is Anna here?”

  “I already told her—no.”

  “Do you know where she is?”

  Laurie shook her head. Emily believed her. The same panic that she’d heard in Kitty’s voice was now manifesting itself on Laurie’s face. “Do you think something happened to her?”

  Instead of answering, Emily lifted the phone. “Kitty, she’s not here and Laurie doesn’t know where she is. Call 9-1-1 and tell them she’s missing.”

  Kitty began to sob hysterically. “What have I done? What have I done?”

  Emily didn’t have time for this. She hung up on the distraught mother and dialed Bailey’s private cell phone number. As it buzzed, she watched Laurie begin to nervously pace the length of the kitchen.

  “Morning, gorgeous.” Bailey’s greeting was filled with intimate warmth.

  “Anna’s missing.”

  Suddenly all-business he asked, “You’re sure?”

  “Her mother just called. Says it looks like her bed wasn’t slept in. Laurie doesn’t know where she is either.”

  “Oh crap.”

  Oh crap pretty much summed up exactly how Emily felt.

  Chapter 21

  More than anything Chase Morgan wanted to climb back under the covers in the Primrose Suite of The Garden Gate. Instead, exhausted after a night of tossing and turning, he was dressed, sitting at the foot of the bed, watching his younger partner pace the length of the room while they waited for the phone call they’d placed to be answered.

  “Morning, boss.” Special Agent Steve Axelrod didn’t sound as though his day had gotten off to an auspicious start.

  “Morning, Steve.” Chase watched Sebastian halt midstride.

  “What did you find for us?” Sebastian asked impatiently.

  “I can’t find much on it, boss.” The abject failure in Axelrod’s voice as it came out of the cell phone’s speaker almost made Chase smile. He got the impression the young agent had spent the entire night searching. An expert researcher, Steve took great pride in being able to find out anything and everything. Chase had called him the night before to ask him to pull whatever he could find on Emily Wright’s abduction.

  “Nothing?” Sebastian, who was listening in, leaned closer to the phone.

  “There’s no record of a case file anywhere.”

  “According to one of the locals she was kidnapped and missing for days. There’s got to be some record of it.”

  “Not in any law enforcement database. I found an old newspaper article from a local paper, but that’s about it.”

  “That doesn’t make much sense,” Chase said. Steve let out a sigh laden with frustration. “My guess is that someone went to the trouble, a lot of trouble, to cover it up.”

  “Maybe The Baby Doll Strangler?” Sebastian mused, looking to Chase for confirmation.

  “Maybe.” They knew the perp was smart, after all he’d managed to stay a step ahead of them all these years. “Thanks for your help, Steve.”

  “Such as it was.” The aggravation in his tone signaled how unaccustomed to failure he was.

  Chase ended the call. “Nobody has a record of a teenage girl’s disappearance?”

  “And this was no runaway or homeless kid. Her father had some standing, some clout.”

  “It just doesn’t make sense, but I’m not going to figure it out on an empty stomach. Smells like they’re serving breakfast.”

  “Great. More green muffins. I’m going for a run.”

  Chase tapped the side of his head twice. “I’d deduced that since you’re wearing running clothes.”

  “Good to see the old man hasn’t gone totally soft.” Sebastian bounded out of the room, a few seconds later the door slammed shut.

  Chase eyed the plump pillows at the top of the bed. It was so tempting to lie back down and close his eyes, but sleep wasn’t going to solve this case. He dragged himself out of the room and limped down the hall toward the breakfast nook.

  Mark Castle was already there, sipping from a dainty china cup, staring at a painting on the wall.

  Chase hesitated in the doorway, watching the other man who was so engrossed in his tho
ughts that he hadn’t heard his shuffling arrival. He cleared his throat, startling the B&B owner who spun toward him.

  “Morning.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Morgan…or do you prefer Agent Morgan?”

  “I prefer Chase.”

  “Of course. Can I get you some coffee?”

  “Please.”

  “Have a seat. Have a seat. Cream and sugar?”

  “Black.”

  Chase slid into a chair, grateful to get his weight off his bad leg which ached worse than usual. “The painting is beautiful.”

  Mark glanced over at the oil painting of an orchid that hung on the wall. “Emily Wright’s mother did it.”

  “She was quite talented.”

  “Yes, she was.” There was no mistaking the sadness in Castle’s voice. “Sam made blueberry muffins this morning.” He pushed a basketful across the table.

  “Thank you. Do you mind if I ask you some questions?”

  “Official questions?”

  Chase nodded.

  “Bailey says you’re the best.”

  “You know him well?”

  Mark shrugged. “Well enough. He’s the same age as my daughter. They were all friends growing up.”

  Chase took a bite of a muffin. Still warm from the oven, it tasted like heaven. “I’d like to ask you about Emily Wright’s kidnapping.”

  He didn’t miss the way the other man’s cup trembled in his hands.

  “I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

  “Do you know if the sheriff or her parents ever had any idea who took her?”

  Mark shook his head sadly. “To be honest I was never all that friendly with Freddy O’Neil or Donald Wright, but I never heard talk that there was a suspect.”

  “And what about Mrs. Wright?”

  A pained expression crossed over Mark’s face. “Val? We were close, but we never talked about it. Ever. It was like she wanted to forget about it, pretend it never happened. She started taking…pills in the days Emily was missing, and she never stopped. They said she’d accidentally overdosed two years ago, but no one believed it.”

  There was no missing the unrequited love in Mark Castle’s tone. Chase felt a stab of sympathy for the man.

  Mark raised his gaze to stare at the painting. “She never painted another flower after Emily’s ordeal. It was as though she could no longer see the beauty in the world. For years she drew, and sketched and painted the same scene, over and over and over again. Probably over 200 of them. None of them framed.”

  “What did they depict?”

  “The lake on a fall day. When she was a teenager Emily described them as her mother’s pathetic attempt to recapture the perfect moment before she was abducted.” Mark shook his head. “She was probably right. Val brought them to me the week she died. Told me Donald had threatened to burn them all. Asked me to hold on to them for her.”

  “And did you?”

  A rueful smile that didn’t reach his eyes teased the corners of Mark’s mouth. “I would have done anything she asked. They’re all boxed up in the basement, along with her collection of dolls. She’d asked Sam to pack those up and cart them over here years earlier, right after Emily returned home, claiming that she was worried that Laurie, who was a baby at the time, might damage them. They’ve been down there ever since. Except for that one.” He pointed to an antique, bisque doll perched on a shelf in the corner.

  “That one was her favorite. I dug it out after she died.” He hung his head. “Silly I know, but it makes me feel like part of her is still with me.” He stood and grabbed the carafe, pouring more coffee into both cups to top them off.

  Sam Castle, apron flapping, burst into the breakfast nook, interrupting Chase and Mark’s conversation. “Emily Wright just called. Says she’s on her way over with Laurie. She sounded upset.”

  “Did she say why?” Chase asked sharply.

  Sam shook his head.

  Chase’s phone buzzed. He knew without even looking at it that Sebastian would be on the other end, probably to tell him what it was that had Emily so upset. “Morgan.”

  Sebastian sounded winded. He must have been running hard. He always pushed himself just a bit more than everyone else. “We’ve got another girl missing. Amanda Pinsky. Went out to walk the family dog this morning and never came back.” His footsteps slapping against the pavement in the background almost drowned out his words.

  “Okay.”

  “I’m heading back to the B&B now to change clothes, and then we’ll head over to her house.”

  “I’ll be ready. Hey, Sebastian? Did the dog come back?”

  “Yeah, that’s what made the parents think something was really wrong. After what happened to the Willet girl they called the police right away.” Sebastian ended the call before Chase could ask anything else.

  He looked up at the Castle brothers; identical concern was etched on their faces. “Do you know the Pinsky family?”

  Mark immediately shook his head.

  Sam pursed his lips together, thinking. “I know the name. I definitely know the name.”

  Chase did his best to wait patiently by taking another bite of the baked treat.

  Snapping his fingers Sam said, “Pine Street. They own the place on the corner of Pine and Elm. It’s for sale. Went on the market a couple weeks ago.”

  “Besides being our cook and chief bottle washer,” Mark supplied helpfully, “Sam takes pictures of properties for real-estate agents who are too lazy to drive out to the houses to do it themselves.”

  “They do that?” Chase asked, having never heard of such a thing.

  “You’d be surprised,” Sam said. “They think it’s a better use of resources to pay me to take the photographs than to waste their own time. I make an appointment with the homeowners and take a few shots of the interior and exterior. Everyone’s happy. I work for a couple different Realtors here, and in the surrounding towns.”

  Chase took another bite of muffin as he absorbed this latest information. Sam Castle had just confessed to knowing the latest victim. He’d just admitted to having been in the girl’s home. Was that because he was forthcoming, or was something more sinister at play? He didn’t want to suspect the more reserved Castle brother, but he did know all the players involved. Suddenly the pastry didn’t taste so sweet.

  The front door of The Garden Gate crashed open. “Mr. Castle? Mr. Castle?”

  There was no mistaking the note of panic in Emily Wright’s voice. It twisted at Chase’s gut.

  “In here, Emily,” Mark called out, leaping to his feet.

  Chase surreptitiously watched Sam’s reaction as Emily barreled into the room, dragging a teary-eyed teenager—who he assumed was her sister—behind her.

  Sam stood to the side, twisting his apron nervously, unsure of what to do.

  Emily’s gaze landed on Chase. “Did you hear?”

  “About Amanda Pinsky?” Chase asked.

  She shook her head impatiently. “Who the hell is Amanda Pinsky?”

  “Another teenage girl who went missing this morning.” Chase watched Sam’s reaction as he delivered the information. The look of horror on the man’s face crossed him off Chase’s suspect list. Nobody was that great an actor.

  “Mandy sits with me at lunch!” Laurie cried.

  “I thought Jackie sat with you.” Emily grabbed a cup off the sideboard and reached for the coffee carafe.

  “The four of us sit together. Me, Amanda, Jackie and…and…Anna!” The younger girl collapsed, and would have fallen if Mark Castle hadn’t half caught, half shoved her into a chair. Her heaving sobs echoed off the walls.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Mark asked, ineffectually patting the teenager’s shoulder. “Did something happen to your dad?”

  “Oh God, did something happen to Daddy too?” Laurie sobbed.

  “No, honey, nothing happened,” Emily soothed, her hands trembling as she filled the cup. Throwing her head back, she took a big gulp, like it was a shot of liquid courag
e. “Anna’s missing.”

  “No, not Anna,” Sebastian corrected, having returned unnoticed from his run. Chest heaving, he stood in the doorway of the nook, surveying the chaotic scene. “Amanda is missing. Not Anna.”

  Laurie cried even harder, almost drowning out Emily’s next words.

  “I talked to Anna’s mother less than thirty minutes ago, and I’m telling you she’s missing.”

  Chase’s chair scraped against the floor as he jumped up from the table. Gritting his teeth against the stabbing pain in his hip, he grabbed on to the table for support. The perp had never taken two girls at once before. While there was a slim chance the girls hadn’t been the victims of foul play, Chase had no doubt that the same person had taken both, just as he knew in his gut that it wasn’t a coincidence that he’d chosen all the girls Laurie Wright ate lunch with. This guy had a plan, and he was escalating. He was moving closer to the Wright sisters.

  Chapter 22

  As Bailey sped toward the Cartridges’ house, his mind raced faster than his car. Anna didn’t fit The Baby Doll Strangler’s preferred victim. Her pink hair and multiple piercings would make her transformation into a doll a challenge. Maybe that would work in the spunky kid’s favor. Maybe he’d wait longer to kill her. Bailey was hopeful there would be enough time to save Anna.

  Kicking up a spray of dust and gravel, Bailey squealed to a halt in the driveway of the dilapidated cottage. Had it only been a couple of days since he’d dropped her off from the Wrights’ house, waiting to make sure she’d gotten inside safely before he’d driven away?

  Kitty Cartridge stumbled through the front door wearing nothing but a silk robe, her near nakedness reminding him of how Emily had voiced her long-held jealousy the night before.

  For a moment the memory of Emily writhing beneath him distracted him from the job at hand. Forcing away the image, he attempted to tamp down his physical reaction as he climbed out of his car. He was here to find out what had happened to Anna, not relive his night of passion with Emily.