by Rita Herron
“I want a family. Tell me how to find the perfect wife.”
Mona made a note on her pad, her first impressions of the caller. When she’d accepted the job, she’d insisted that all the calls be recorded for safety and legal reasons. “Why don’t you start by telling me about yourself. What do you do for a living?”
“Is that all women care about?” Will asked, defensive. “How much money a man makes?”
Mona tapped her fingers along her thigh. One rule of counseling was not to get personally involved or bring one’s own opinions into the situation. She needed to guide him to make choices, not tell him what to do.
“No, but your job or career choice reflects your interests. For instance, you’ll have more in common with a lady you work with or someone who shares a similar hobby.”
His tone softened. “I see your point.”
“What are some of your interests?” Mona asked.
“I go to church,” Will said. “I believe in family, in taking care of your loved ones.” He paused. “I want a home, a wife, children. The same things most people want.”
“Those are admirable values,” Mona said. “Have you been in a relationship lately?”
“Why do you want to know that?”
Again with the attitude. “Because we can learn from prior relationships. If they were good ones, we try to re-create that relationship. Look for someone with similar traits. By the same token, if we’ve had a failed relationship, we can learn from our mistakes.”
“I just ended a bad one,” he admitted.
Mona toyed with a paper clip on the desk. “I’m sorry to hear that. What happened?”
“All she wanted was a fun night. She didn’t care about family or making a good house or pleasing a man.”
Mona’s concern about the stability of the caller mounted. He was exhibiting signs of narcissistic behavior.
“Where did you two meet?”
The sound of something thumping echoed. Maybe his foot? A nervous habit?
“A bar. But Mama says only tramps go to bars.”
Mona swallowed. “Perhaps you should try other places. How about your church or your workplace? Maybe your office.”
“I don’t work in an office.”
He obviously didn’t want to divulge his occupation. “Then you might join a singles group at your church or a club like a running or hiking club.”
He heaved a breath. “Maybe.”
“You mentioned that this woman wasn’t interested in pleasing a man. A healthy relationship is a give-and-take on both parts.”
“Are you implying that I did something wrong?” he asked, his voice rising in pitch.
“Do you think you did something wrong?”
“No, she did. She failed.”
Mona tensed and waited for him to say more, but the phone went silent.
“Time for a word from our sponsors,” she said, eager to take a breather.
She motioned for Chance to go to a commercial break, then joined him. “Who made that call, Chance?”
He shrugged. “No idea, it was an Unknown, but he was insistent about talking to you.”
The fact that the number hadn’t shown up added to her uneasy feeling. Will not only sounded narcissistic, but he seemed demented.
Dangerous, even.
That fucking bitch Mona. How dare she ask him what he did for a living? A man didn’t have to earn a million dollars a year to make a woman happy.
His mother’s pain-filled snore rent the air, and he pulled the quilt up over her, tucking it tightly around her thin, frail shoulders to keep her warm.
Then he walked over to the jewelry box on her vanity, slid onto the stool, and opened it. Mama’s gleaming necklaces, earrings, and bracelets twinkled in the dim light. He picked them up, watching the silver chains slide through his fingers, smiling as he remembered Mama wearing them to Sunday church.
He added the new charm bracelet to the mix. He would show it to her tomorrow when she felt better.
Except . . . Mama said she wasn’t going to get better.
Panicked at the thought, he took the bracelet to her. “Look, Mama, I brought you a gift.”
She stirred, her eyes sparkling. “Oh, how pretty! You’re such a good boy.” She held out her wrist. He slipped the bracelet around it and fastened the clasp. “That looks wonderful, son.”
He kissed her cheek, glad he’d thought to bring her a token of his love. That radio lady’s voice echoed in his ear.
She’d suggested other places to meet women.
It wouldn’t hurt to widen his hunting ground.
Except he did have that one secret place where he looked. Mama had always kept him away from the computer. Said it was evil, that talking to strangers online wasn’t normal. That only sinful women posted pictures of themselves there to lure men into their whore beds.
But Mama didn’t have to know everything about him.
He wasn’t as stupid as she thought. And there were so many more women online to pick from than in Graveyard Falls.
Sometimes he clammed up and started stuttering when he met a girl in person. Then she thought he was stupid, too.
But online he could be smooth and charismatic.
He lit a cigarette, stepped outside on the back porch, and took a drag.
For a long moment, he watched the wind hurl leaves and twigs across the woods. Branches snapped and twigs crackled with the weight of the snow. The white-capped mountains rose to form sharp ridges against the night sky. Somewhere in those dark woods an animal scavenged for food.
This was where he belonged. Where he thrived.
Where he would bring his lover and keep her as his.
He noticed a deer at the edge of the woods, grabbed his rifle from the rack in the kitchen, and stepped back outside.
For a long minute he watched the animal in its natural habitat. Watched it pause to graze, glide gracefully through the woods, stop, and perk its ears at the sound of another animal nearby.
So beautiful.
But it was meant to die.
He lifted the rifle and tracked it as it darted to the right. One. Two. Three.
The animal paused again, head lifted toward the sky. Neck, long and sleek. Its eyes looking his way. Daring him to let it go. Daring him to fire.
It was a game of cat and mouse just like the game women played with men.
But they needed to learn in the end that men were in charge.
He smiled and pulled the trigger, catching the animal between the eyes. It fell onto the ground, as its blood painted the snow a dark crimson.
CHAPTER FIVE
Mona tugged on her coat, anxious to leave the station. Another storm warning was in effect, and she didn’t want to get stranded. Her car was ancient and lacked traction—something she and Brent had planned to remedy with a new vehicle. But when he died, those funds had paid for his funeral.
Wind battered the old house, shaking windowpanes and adding to her nerves. The call from Will still disturbed her.
In her previous work, she’d met numerous women victimized by men who shared Will’s attitude.
The last situation had ended in a woman’s death.
She had to be careful when he called again. And she had no doubt he would.
He sounded needy . . . desperate.
She jumped in her car, turned on the heater and defroster. On autopilot, she flipped on the radio, tensing when she heard a late-breaking story on the news.
“We have just received word that a woman’s body has been found at the base of Graveyard Falls. Police haven’t identified her yet, but the FBI is at the scene. With local sheriff Ned Buckley’s recent retirement, Deputy Ian Kimball says FBI Special Agent Cal Coulter will be leading the investigation into the woman’s death.”
Mona clutched the steer
ing wheel in a white-knuckle grip. A woman had been murdered at Graveyard Falls? Found on the very day of the memorial service for the other three girls?
That was eerie.
And Cal had been called in to work the case? It had been three months since she’d seen him. Three months since Brent’s funeral.
That hurt.
She’d thought they were friends. That he cared about her. In fact, she’d met both Brent and Cal during her parents’ murder investigation. She’d thought she and Cal had connected. But Brent had flirted outrageously with her and asked her out. And Cal hadn’t shown any interest after that.
She rubbed the charm at her neck. She’d been so lonely since she’d lost her parents, even more so after losing Brent and the baby.
But Cal was in Graveyard Falls now working this new case. Maybe they could reconnect.
Cal paced outside the autopsy room, hoping the medical examiner worked quickly. The stench of formaldehyde, death, and body wastes permeated the area, permanently infused in the faded walls of the basement room in the hospital.
Before he’d left the falls, one of the investigators had sent photos of the victim to the tech team at the Bureau, along with the woman’s fingerprints.
Cal also wanted to know more about the wedding dress and lipstick.
His phone buzzed. Peyton Duke from the tech team at the Bureau.
He punched Connect. “Agent Coulter.”
“Coulter, I have an ID on the victim.” The sound of keys clicking on her keyboard echoed in the background.
Cal’s pulse spiked. “That was fast. What’s her name?”
“Gwyneth Toyton. She’s twenty-five, a student at TCAT–Knoxville.”
The Tennessee College of Applied Technology. “Do you have an address for her and contact information for next of kin?”
“I’ll text you both addresses. She rents an apartment near the campus. Father deceased. Mother is on disability and lives in a rental house a few streets from her apartment.”
“I’ll have the deputy make the notification to the mother, while I check out her apartment.”
Cal disconnected the phone, called the deputy, then stepped into the autopsy room, pausing to adjust to the strong odors.
“Dr. Wheeland, the victim’s name is Gwyneth Toyton. I’m on my way to her apartment. Do you have anything yet?”
A frown marred the doctor’s face. “Cause of death was asphyxiation due to strangulation.”
Just as he expected. “Rape?”
The doctor pushed his goggles onto the top of his head. “No. No vaginal bruising or fluids.”
So sex wasn’t part of the motive. “Any DNA?”
“I scraped under her nails and combed through her hair, although I think the particles beneath her nails are coat or glove fibers, not skin. I’ll let you know once we analyze it.”
Cal told Wheeland to call him if he learned anything else, then headed down the long hallway in the basement to the elevator. The frigid temperature took his breath away as he stepped from the building, making him sprint to his car.
The wedding dress and garter disturbed him. But those thorns in the woman’s throat seemed especially sinister and mimicked the Thorn Ripper’s MO.
Mona would probably be able to give him insight. She’d helped the police on cases in Knoxville. At one time Brent had suggested to her that she become a criminal profiler.
But she had wanted a family.
A family with Brent.
He struggled to banish the resentment that that fact stirred. Mona had deserved better.
Gwyneth Toyton’s face flashed in his mind. So had she.
He couldn’t turn the clock back and prevent her death. But he could get justice for her.
Mona fought a case of nerves as she parked at the antiques gift store in town. The fact that a girl had been murdered and left at the falls where three murders had occurred thirty years ago, and on the very day of the yearly memorial, seemed too coincidental.
Cal would find the truth, though.
Meanwhile, she had her own answers to find.
She stroked the baby bootie charm again. The receipt had come from a gift store here in town. That store was gone now, though, and this one stood in its place.
As she entered, the scent of candle wax assailed her. Timeless Treasures overflowed with antiques, old books, vintage jewelry, and an assortment of gift items. She maneuvered through the customers to the counter.
An older woman wearing a feathered hat and gold cape looked down at her from a stool where she was dusting a Tiffany-inspired lamp. For a moment, Mona studied the woman, looking for any family resemblance. But this lady wouldn’t have been the right age to have given birth to her.
“Can I help you?”
“I hope so.” Mona introduced herself and learned the owner’s name was Aretha Cummings. “I received this charm from the woman who gave birth to me thirty years ago. The receipt showed that it was purchased here . . . well, at the store that was here back then, Garage Sale Finds. Would you know who owned that store, or how I could find them?”
Aretha tilted her head and studied her. “I’m afraid that was Ms. Hazel, but she passed away last year.”
Disappointment filled Mona. Although she knew coming here had been a long shot. “Does she have family whom I could speak with?”
“Not Ms. Hazel. She lived and died alone.” Aretha descended the steps and took a closer look at the charm. “That is pretty. But you know, whoever bought it might not have been living here. It could have been a tourist passing through.”
Mona nodded. That was true. “Did you live here thirty years ago?”
Aretha shook her head. “No, my husband and I retired here three years ago.”
Mona thanked her and left. She’d visit the local hospital or county office and search their birth records.
Maybe she’d find answers there.
Sheriff Ned Buckley rubbed his head with a groan. If only he could quiet the damn voices. What a shitty way to go. This fucking brain tumor was not only sucking the life from him, it was also robbing him of his mind. But he knew enough to realize there was talk about that Pike boy getting parole.
He couldn’t let him be released. And he sure as hell didn’t want anyone digging around too much.
Not with his daughter, Anna, back in town.
She hated him enough already.
Although some days it was good that his memory went and the awful years eluded him.
Then he was back in the time when Anna was a little girl, and she sat on his knee and he bounced her up and down, and she’d laugh and hug him and tell him she loved him.
She’d stopped telling him she loved him when she’d turned seventeen. Then she’d turned her affection toward that Pike boy.
And now another girl’s body had been found at the falls.
He went to his desk, pulled out the folder on the Thorn Ripper case, and spread the pictures of the dead girls across the desk. The thorny rose stems in the girls’ mouths still made his skin crawl. And he never had figured out why Pike had whacked their damn hair.
Those young ladies had gone to the falls expecting to receive a rose as an invitation to prom. Hell, that tradition had started when he was in school.
Instead they’d been lured to their deaths.
He limped to the window and looked out at the mountains, his vision blurring. Today was a good day. The details of the arrest and the evidence stacked against Pike was as clear as it had been back then.
But some days it wasn’t so clear. He had flashes of himself at the falls. Of setting things up to make the Pike boy look guilty.
Or was that just the accusation Anna had screamed at him?
Hell, it was all a blurry damn mess. He just prayed this recent murder didn’t make people start asking questions about how he’d
handled the case.
Nervous over the fact that a girl had been murdered, Mona rushed up the steps to the small house she’d rented on the outskirts of town. The shadows from the woods suddenly looked ominous, the thick trees a perfect place for a predator to hide.
Icicles clung to the awning, breaking off in the wind and crackling like glass. She kicked snow from her boots and unlocked her door, the blustery wind rolling off the mountain confirming another storm was imminent.
The house was cold, the furnace grumbling as it tried to warm the interior, the windows rattling with such force she thought the panes might explode.
She turned on the gas logs, the silence in the house making her ache with loneliness, a reminder that Brent was gone and would never walk through the door again.
The wedding photo of her and Brent on the mantel drew her eye, and she blinked back tears. They’d been so happy that day.
With her parents gone and Brent’s family deceased as well, they’d decided on a simple ceremony at a little chapel in the woods that overlooked the valley below.
Cal had been Brent’s best man, but he’d looked nervous at the ceremony. Then she’d heard Cal and Brent arguing. When she’d asked what they were fighting about, both had clammed up.
It must have been important because after that, the two men had barely spoken.
Why she was remembering that argument now she didn’t know.
Maybe because Cal was in town and she hadn’t heard from him. Maybe because he was working a murder case, and she worried about him just as she’d always worried about Brent when he’d been on assignment.
She’d been terrified that he’d be killed on the job.
Ironic that he’d died from a car accident on a mountain road in the middle of nowhere instead of in the line of duty.
The gas logs slowly warmed the den, and she brushed away fresh tears and poured herself a glass of chardonnay.
A noise sounded out back, and she walked to the kitchen and glanced out the window. The woods backed up to her property, the night dark with clouds, shadows hovering everywhere she looked.
Maybe she should call Cal and ask him about the case. He might drop by to visit, talk to her, assure her she was safe.
