The profiler chose that moment to point a finger at Skye. “Which means your killer no doubt sees you as being out of your league against him, so much so, that you have no right to pursue him.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Skye muttered.
Josh’s protective nature stirred inside, his sense of outrage ramping up. “So Skye’s not a viable threat, but rather someone he looks down on with disdain?”
Cannavale stabbed a finger toward Josh. “Make sure you have her back because he’ll likely come after her in some way.”
“The flowers. He sent me flowers and left them on my patio. We thought he was simply trying to get my attention.”
Cannavale shook his head. “Knowing where you live? Not a good development at all. My guess is he is showing off to get attention but not for the reason you think. Since he’s convinced himself you’re deficient as a human being, he wants you to know you aren’t worthy. Until this guy’s in cuffs, I’d take extra precautions.”
Josh didn’t hesitate. “Believe me, I intend to.”
“How long are you in town?” Skye asked.
“Till Monday, at which time I intend to head to the Cascades to spend a long vacation in the mountains with my wife until after New Year’s.”
“Then if you haven’t already made plans for Sunday, how would you feel about a home-cooked meal at my father’s place?”
“I never say no to home-cooking. Maybe you both should start calling me Emmett.”
“Okay, Emmett. You’ll need directions.”
Later on the ride home, Josh wanted to know, “Do you really think it’s wise to invite him to dinner the same night you’re meeting Travis’s main squeeze?”
“You know me. I guess we’ll find out the hard way if it’s a mistake. If nothing else it should be an interesting meal.”
Chapter Eight
As it turned out, they picked Emmett up from the lobby of his hotel and explained they’d be eating dinner in Everett at The Painted Crow, the forty acres of ranchland Travis owned that hugged the Washington coastline where he bred and sold American Paint Horses.
“Interesting name. Probably something to do with his spirit guide,” Emmett deduced, his attention turning to Skye. “Which makes me wonder. What’s yours?”
While Skye zipped her Subaru in and out of the Sunday afternoon traffic, she spared a glance in the rearview mirror at the man sitting in the backseat. “White wolf. And you?”
Emmett grinned in the direction of the driver. “Coyote. Lifelong enemy of the wolf. I see conflict in our future.”
Skye shot him an amused look. “Goes without explanation. You might want to include Josh in that statement. It probably isn’t a good time to tell you that you’re surrounded by wolves—at least in this car.” She looked over at Josh. “You should definitely tell him what happened to you and how you acquired your wolf tendencies.”
“I don’t think I have to.” Josh angled in the passenger seat so he could meet Emmett’s eyes. “You picked up on something the other day when we were sitting across from each other I saw it in your eyes.”
“I did indeed. You’re perceptive like the wolf, keenly smart and cunning. I’m fascinated to hear how you have wolf blood running through your veins.”
“Suffice to say, I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Skye’s spirit guide.”
“And the fact that I led us into what amounted to a trap, an ambush with Ronny Whitfield, didn’t help matters,” Skye admitted.
“Ah, yes. I’m familiar with your background. I discovered in the records that Whitfield died of an unfortunate animal attack.” Emmett cocked a brow in Josh’s direction. “Your wolf’s doing?”
By way of an answer, Josh ignored the question. “Right about now, most people would merely consider all three of us insane or delusional.”
Emmett nodded. “But we aren’t most people. What we are to some are anomalies. Even now, Chinooks are still viewed as extinct by the federal government.”
“That’s crap,” Skye muttered, passing a slower vehicle that seemed to have a hard time finding the gas pedal.
“I’m sure you’re referring to the tribe’s historical fight with bureaucratic red tape. I read your extensive bio as well as the book you wrote about it,” Josh admitted with a grin. “I’m a huge fan of your work.”
Emmett grinned back. “The wolf makes for a worthy adversary because he’s insightful and takes his time sizing things up before he acts. And yes, my people briefly won the right to establish ourselves as a tribe and be recognized as such back in 2001, only to lose the recognition within a matter of months. We’ve been fighting in court ever since. Imagine being from the tribe that kept Lewis and Clark’s entire expedition alive, and yet we have to fight for our tribal existence, our very heritage. We’re just one of a hundred Native tribes petitioning and working our way through the court system, fighting for federal recognition.”
“It’s the same with the Duwamish,” Josh pointed out.
“Good thing we come from a long line of stubborn people, right?”
Skye nodded in agreement. “We do. Look at me, the Nimiipuu. Just because a bunch of French Canadian fur traders supposedly spotted a couple warriors with a bone sticking through their noses, the nimrods called us Nez Perce, meaning pierced nose. We’ve been stuck with that tag ever since. Forget the fact that nose piercing wasn’t even part of the Nimiipuu’s culture.”
“Exactly. So do you guys live around here?”
“Not anymore. We bought a place over on Bainbridge Island, a spot where Skye has room to plant a garden if she wants. Whenever we head to Seattle these days we take the ferry.”
“I see. So in order to leave you flowers on the back porch, your unsub had to go out of his way to take the ferry to get there? Interesting.”
This time, Josh retold the whole story.
“Hmm, you don’t find it odd that your wolf didn’t sound an alarm?”
Skye and Josh exchanged long stares. “We questioned that back and forth until we decided that maybe I slept through Kiya’s fuss. That’s her name by the way, Kiya. I’d been up all night so I guess I didn’t hear the racket. That’s the only explanation.”
“Unless this unsub put a block of some kind on your spirit guide,” Emmett suggested.
“A block? You mean like a spell?”
“Exactly like a spell to prevent your wolf from picking up his presence.”
“But he’d have to be Native in order to know about Kiya, or spirit guides in general for that matter,” Josh pointed out.
“Not necessarily. Don’t be so quick to rule out other ancient peoples who practiced curses and the like.”
“I hadn’t considered that. By the way, what do you call your coyote?”
“Coyote.”
Skye belted out a laugh. “Now that’s original.”
She steered the car toward the exit ramp, made a left turn at the stop sign, and drove past towering evergreens and rolling pastureland. The ranch sat among a lush forest of Douglas fir and spruce.
As the vehicle flew under the iron gate-topper, horses grazed in the front corral. Looking beyond the two-story house, steep cliffs dropped down to a narrow stretch of inlet rocky shoreline scattered with conifers and beach grass.
The unmistakable aroma of salt and sea mixed with pine met them as they stepped out of the car.
Travis appeared on the wide porch with a stylish woman draped on his arm. The couple sent up a friendly wave to their guests.
Skye decided she’d need to work on getting used to seeing a female with her father. She couldn’t deny they made a striking pair. At five-ten, Travis was quite a bit taller than the petite, thirty-something Chenoa Starr. Skye had to admit Chenoa’s warm exotic eyes, high cheekbones, silky black hair, and ready smile were all huge pluses.
Despite all that, it was the apparent age difference that didn’t sit well with Skye. From the looks of her, Chenoa had to be no older than thirty-five, which made her more than fifte
en years younger than her fifty-two-year-old father. The fact that Chenoa had chosen a tight-fitting, neck-plunging cocktail dress that looked like it deserved its own Academy Award didn’t help put Skye in a better frame of mind. The out-of-place attire went a long way to prevent Skye from becoming a charter member of the Chenoa fan club.
Maybe Josh had been right. Maybe this wasn’t the best time to bring a guest with them to meet the girlfriend.
As if reading Skye’s mind and disapproving thoughts, Josh sent her an “I told you so” look that reminded her it had been a bad idea to bring Emmett along. The look earned him an infuriated glare from his wife. But it was too late to change the dynamics of the showdown now.
“Hi, Dad,” Skye finally managed. “I’d like you to meet Emmett Cannavale.”
“Ah yes, the former olive tree grower. Nice to meet you. Welcome to The Painted Crow.”
Emmett let out a laugh. “Thanks, I plan to retire one day to the family farm my father handed down to me. So do your heart a favor and make sure you stock up on plenty of olive oil in the future. It’s good for the ticker. My wife will thank you for it.”
“I’d think olive trees are tough to grow here?” Skye said. “What with the cold and damp winters?”
“Our farm uses the hardy Arbequina variety. It tolerates coastal climate really well as long as the temps don’t drop below twenty degrees. We take precautions against the winter weather beginning with the November harvest season by layering mounds of dirt around the trunks. It protects the young trees. I’ll send you a couple for your own yard. You’ll be shocked by how much fruit two trees will give you.”
“Would those produce green or black?”
“Spanish olives are actually dark brown, very smooth and buttery in flavor.”
“Here that, Josh? We’ll be able to grow our own olives.”
Josh put an arm around Skye. “Does that mean you’ll make those great big ones stuffed with cream cheese?”
She poked him in the rib. “Someone’s hungry.”
The group drifted through the front door and into a masculine living room, a traditional man’s room filled with soft black leather furniture, chrome accents, and mahogany wood. The walls were decorated with several large landscapes depicting Native scenes in oil done by Native American artist Ty Moon.
Making herself at home in her father’s house, Skye was about to play hostess and take drink orders from everyone when the charming Chenoa beat her to it.
“Now, what would everyone like to drink?”
With that one sentence, Skye gritted her teeth, found herself clenching her jaw. But despite the instant dislike she’d taken to the woman, Skye resolved to get through the evening without being rude.
That proved even more difficult when Chenoa fussed over Travis like a clucking hen with her baby chicks. It made Skye want to barf.
To make matters worse Chenoa brought out appetizers that looked like they came straight from the freezer aisle—tasteless mini quiches, brown clumps of hamburger shaped like meatballs, and a plate of chicken-stuffed taquitos.
Not exactly a menu that corresponded with the rich, snobby equestrian image Chenoa seemed determined to present to the world.
When the woman kept rattling on about all the blue ribbons and trophies she’d won from her various horse shows, Skye all but lost her appetite. She listened as Chenoa droned on about how a rider had to control a thousand-pound mare using every muscle throughout her entire body—as if the guests were supposed to find that information the least bit fascinating. While Skye sat there feigning interest, she conjured up a vision of Chenoa going head first into a muddy trough.
That made her feel better until the woman announced, “And this year Travis is taking me to the Savannah Classic so I can accept the award for Horsewoman of the Year.”
Skye and Josh traded fed-up looks then slanted one over at Emmett, who wore a bemused expression on his face. The profiler seemed a snicker away from reacting to the motor mouth who couldn’t seem to shut up about herself.
That alone had Skye on the verge of committing a social faux pas. To keep that from happening, while they waited for dinner, Josh tried to turn the conversation to something more appealing, at least to them. He asked Emmett about highly organized serial killers and the ploys they generally used to achieve success.
Skye lifted her glass of red in Emmett’s direction. “Our guy is definitely not one who kills simply at random. He’s methodical and takes pride in his work.”
“Until he isn’t,” Emmett offered up. “Methodical, that is. I’ve studied the cases you brought to me in greater detail. I believe Josh is right about why the killer mutilated those young women. The implants were an affront to him in some way. But he dumped them where he did because he wanted them found.”
Realizing they’d gone over this same topic at the seminar, Skye picked up on the gist of Josh’s intent, which was fine by her. As long as she didn’t have to listen to Chenoa prattle on about her hobbies, she could talk about the weather. But serial killers would make for a better dialogue. “I think the guy wanted to get a reaction and sit somewhere so he could keep an eye on the scene.”
“It was the middle of the night. He probably brought night vision goggles,” Josh suggested. “In order to do that his spot had to be high above the shopping center.”
“Like a rooftop,” Skye offered.
“You’re looking at someone who wants your attention so much that he may go all in to make sure he gets it, Emmett noted. “Even if it means he’ll try a new angle, something he’s never tried before.”
Josh chewed on that. “And you still believe we might be dealing with several different personalities?”
Emmett nodded. “Consider the possibility of at least three. You’d do well to keep it in the back of your head as you move the investigation forward. Keeping an open mind means less chances to miss a vital chunk of the puzzle when dealing with a splintered identity.”
About that time, Chenoa appeared in the doorway to the dining room arm in arm with Travis. “Time to eat.”
The cozy couple reinforced how the woman had prevented Travis from mingling with his other guests. One more mark against Chenoa, Skye decided, as everyone moved to the table. After getting comfortable they attempted to pick up the discussion where they’d left off.
But Chenoa headed that idea off with a terse reminder. “Excuse me, but I don’t think this is the time or place to have a morbid conversation about serial killers over my delicious lasagna casserole.”
“We were just touching on the fascinating concept of personality disorders,” Skye pointed out, hoping to either push Travis to finally engage in the topic or drive Chenoa over the edge. “That’s one of the reasons we invited Dr. Cannavale here tonight. Tomorrow he leaves town for the holidays and who knows when we’ll get this chance again to pick his brain or to talk to him in depth, one on one. You obviously don’t appreciate just how special this opportunity is.”
Chenoa sent Travis a scathing look. “That’s all fine and well but no one bothered running this by me. I had no idea you’d want to spend the evening chatting about something as vile as murderers and the like. It never occurred to me that you’d want to. But it should have.”
Skye sent her father an equally lethal glare but out of respect for her dad kept quiet while Chenoa continued to build her case.
“It’s simply not a proper venue to talk about mutilations and bones over dinner. In my opinion, it’s not in very good taste. In fact, I’ve heard enough of this kind of talk tonight to last me a lifetime. And I want it to stop this minute.”
Skye sent Travis another seething scowl. It was then she noticed her father looked positively embarrassed. She wasn’t sure but his demeanor might even border on a degree of humiliation. She was sorely tempted to ditch this whole effort then and there and head for the front door. But something about the pleading look on her father’s face prevented her from getting her feet to move. Instead of walking out, she picked
up her salad fork and rolled her eyes at Chenoa. “Fine. I wouldn’t dream of ruining this delicious pasta dish by discussing such mundane and trivial topics like who might be mutilating and killing young females around Seattle when what we could be doing is counting all the blue ribbons you have hanging on your wall back home.”
Chenoa pushed her shoulders back, visibly insulted. “I’m proud of my ribbons. I earned each and every one of them. At least I know how to dress when someone invites me over to Sunday dinner.”
Skye looked down at her red fluted-sleeve top and the black trousers she’d worn. “If that dig is aimed at me, I accept. Since the invitation didn’t specify a dress code to my father’s own table, I put on what feels comfortable to me, especially during winter. Dressing like a fashionista isn’t for me.”
“Maybe it should be.”
“Maybe you should take your fashion sense and shove it up your snooty, tight—”
Josh interjected before she could finish. “This Caesar salad looks tasty. Doesn’t it, Skye?”
Skye turned that lethal stare on her husband. “Oh, it does. And the garlic bread is such a nice homey touch. If I know my frozen foods, I believe this is the brand that comes straight from the freezer section, right?” Skye made a big production of tearing it into shreds on her plate on top of the bland pasta dish.
When Travis tried to halt the tension between the two women Chenoa glared at him. Travis found himself at a loss for words and caught in the middle. Sitting at the end of the table he looked on helpless to stop the bickering.
The group managed to get through tasteless lasagna without another major blow up. But toward the end of the evening Skye’s neck began to ache from the stiff bent to her spine. Her cheeks began to feel numb as if they’d been frozen into a permanent phony smile.
His Garden of Bones (Skye Cree Book 4) Page 10
