by Rita Herron
“Well,” she said wryly. “She obviously dressed the part.”
Just as she was feeling uncomfortable, looking at lingerie with a man she had slept with, Ellie’s phone vibrated. Glad to escape the closet, she stepped back into the bedroom to answer the call. It was the sheriff.
“Hey,” she muttered as she imagined him at the strip club where Carrie worked. Loud music boomed in the background, blending with male jeers. Bryce was probably front and center tossing dollar bills at the young women who gyrated and shook their tasseled tits.
Shoving the images aside, she said, “We’re at Ms. Winters’ house. I don’t think she was taken from here.”
“Me neither,” Bryce said. “Her car is still at the club. Manager said sometimes she leaves it here after work for extracurricular activities, then comes back for the car in the night. I took a look at it and found her purse and phone in the alley. Doesn’t look like she made it to her car at all.”
Ellie sucked in her frustration. “Did the manager or any of the employees see her leave with anyone?”
“No, but they’re all protective of the clientele.”
“Cameras?”
“Not working,” Bryce said. “They’re there to deter crime, but again, he doesn’t want customers shying away because they’re on film.”
“He’s more worried about protecting the men who frequent the bar than his employees,” Ellie said in disgust.
“It’s adult entertainment, Ellie,” Bryce said sardonically. “The men have a right to go to a bar without worrying about being blackmailed by someone who might extort them.”
Ellie rolled her eyes. “Talk to the waitresses and bartenders and other dancers. Dust her dressing room and look for DNA left by one of her clients.” She shook her head at the fact that she was going to suggest this but did it anyway. “Do whatever you have to, Bryce, but find out if one of the customers is the man you dubbed the Weekday Killer. For all we know, she could have been blackmailing him and he decided to kill her. The other murders could be a ruse to cover up his real target.”
Although that sounded far-fetched, she was trying to be open-minded and not miss anything.
“You don’t tell me what to do,” Bryce snapped. “Remember, I’m the sheriff.”
How could she forget?
A text dinged from Cord, and she muttered that she had to go.
Forty-One
Somewhere on the AT
His latest victim twisted at the bindings around her wrists and feet as she struggled to open her eyes. Darkness swallowed her, the sickening scent of his sweat and a musk-like odor filling her nostrils.
Slowly the truth registered. She was moving. Locked in the trunk of a car, the tires were grinding over ruts in the road, swerving and spinning in a dizzying winding pattern that indicated she was somewhere in the mountains.
Somewhere far away from home.
How long had she been unconscious?
Her brain felt foggy, her eyes swollen from crying, her voice hoarse from screaming at the man to release her before she’d eventually passed out. He’d laughed in her face. Chanted some rhyme to her that she’d heard when she was a little girl. He’d yanked her hair, jammed a knife at her throat, stuffed a rag into her mouth. The world swirled, stars exploded behind her eyes, and she hadn’t been able to breathe. Then everything faded to nothing.
She blinked again, struggling to recall the details of the night before.
But everything was a fog.
Tears trickled from her eyes, trailing down her cheeks.
Suddenly the car screeched to a stop, slamming her sideways. Pain ricocheted through her. Choking back a cry, she twisted and tugged at the ropes.
But there was no time. The trunk opened and a hulking gray shadow loomed over her. Tall trees shrouded what little sunlight seeped through the treetops. He wore a dark ski mask so she couldn’t see his face, even though she had seen it last night.
The realization hit her. That meant he didn’t intend to let her live.
Summoning her courage, she raised her legs and kicked at him as she reached for her. He grunted, stepping to the side to dodge the blow, then pulled her to a sitting position. She pushed at him with her bound hands, but he was strong and snatched her hair.
The knife blade glinted against the darkness. “Wednesday’s child is full of woe,” he murmured. “But you aren’t, are you?”
With a sinister laugh, he dragged her from the car. Her scream was drowned out by the sound of a waterfall nearby, and she inhaled the sickening sweet scent of wildflowers.
Forty-Two
Teardrop Falls
A man of few words, Cord’s text to Ellie was short and to the point:
Teardrop Falls. Locals who’ve lost loved ones go there to pray and mourn their loss. Meet at Springer Mountain and I’ll guide you there.
Ellie’s lungs squeezed for air as she parked at the base of the mountain a short while later. The falls were roughly five miles north of Springer Mountain. After leaving Carrie Winters’ house, she and Derrick had dropped her hate mail at the station to be forwarded to the lab at the Bureau and he’d sent Bryce a message to have any mail her father had received sent there as well.
Derrick had found Carrie’s laptop in her bedroom. It was password protected, so he’d also sent it to the lab.
“If Bryce comes up empty at the Men’s Den, maybe we’ll find a calendar of Carrie’s clients,” Derrick said.
Ellie nodded. “If one of them wanted more than Carrie offered, or stalked her and she rejected him, it could have triggered his rage. Although if that’s the case, why didn’t he start with Carrie?”
“It’s true that a killer’s first victim is often more personal,” Derrick said. “But not always the case. Sometimes the other victims are a replacement for the one he really wants to kill.”
Ellie inhaled a painful breath, an awkward silence falling between them. Hiram had killed all those little girls, including Derrick’s sister, as a replacement for her. She didn’t need a reminder. She’d never forget it.
The sound of Cord’s truck pulling up beside them saved her from the memory.
As she climbed from the vehicle, the giant rocky ridges of the mountains climbed toward the sky. Wildflowers dotted the expanse of green, poking up through the grass and weeds, adding shades of purple, yellow, white and red as vibrant as the sunrise.
Although majestic in beauty, the shadowed, isolated areas in the dense thickets provided countless places to hide. There were drop-offs and ledges so narrow that crossing them meant plastering your body against the wall of stone and sliding one foot at a time. Even seasoned hikers like Ellie held their breath as they negotiated them. Praying folks swore that they got one step closer to Jesus as they crossed to the other side.
As she took in the view, she tried not to imagine what Shondra might be going through, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t shake the fear from her mind. She’d seen those whip marks on Courtney.
“He didn’t keep the other women long before he killed them,” she commented as they set off on the trail. “Yet Shondra has already been gone three days.”
Derrick adjusted his pack. “I know. It’s doesn’t fit his MO, does it? But we’re doing everything we can, Ellie.”
They lapsed into silence again as Cord got out. Dressed for the hike in insulated pants, a navy flannel shirt and North Face jacket, he grabbed his backpack from his trunk. Mud already caked his boots and dirt streaked his jacket as if he’d taken an early morning hike before meeting them. He threw the bag over his shoulder, and she thought she saw blood beneath his fingernails. Though with Derrick present, she decided not to probe. She’d learned that the hard way last time.
His deep scowl indicated he was about as happy to see Derrick with her as she was to be with both men. But this was about the job, so she asked Cord to lead the way. Derrick took the rear, staying close behind her and keeping up as they wove through the narrow paths carved between the giant oaks,
pine trees and cypresses.
Although it was April now, the crisp mountain air was cool, especially under the shade of the canopy of trees, sending a shiver through Ellie.
Three miles in, Cord paused to take a sip of water, his throat muscles working as he swallowed. Derrick constantly scanned the woods, and Ellie did the same. If the perpetrator had already murdered another victim, he could be out here somewhere, looking for the perfect spot to dump the body.
The Weekday Killer’s message taunted her. Will you find her in time, Detective?
Forty-Three
Preacher’s Circle
Eula Ann Frampton sat in a rocking chair beside Preacher Ray, her gnarled hands clasped. The voices of the dead whispered in the old lady’s mind as the sun slipped behind a cloud.
Most folks around Bluff County thought she was crazy as a loon, and some were downright scared of her, even dragging their children to the other side of the street when they saw her coming, as if she was the bad witch in Hansel and Gretel.
Silly fools.
It all started with the rumor Meddlin’ Maude had started years ago. The gossipmongers jumped on Maude’s words, and the legend blew up from there, spreading through the town like wildfire.
Apparently, Eula killed her old man and buried him in their rose garden.
The Porch Sitters, what the prayer chain called themselves, gathered for weeks on different porches to pray for her lost soul.
While she did grow the prettiest blood-red roses in these parts, only she and Ernie knew what had happened. Dust to dust though. And a dead body did make for decent fertilizer.
Laughter bubbled in her throat as Preacher Ray handed her a cup of herbal tea, that he swore helped heal the soul. Although preachers weren’t supposed to swear, he’d had his own share of the rough life, and he made his own set of rules while living on the trail.
“Ms. Eula, you said you been hearing the spirits again?”
Eula tucked a strand of her wiry gray hair back into her bun, then sipped her tea. “Afraid so. You know I don’t ask for this,” she said. “They just come to me in the crevices of my mind. Unsettled and searching for some kind of peace or guidance.” Not that she could help. She had no control over heaven and earth or sin and sinner.
Not when she was one herself.
Preacher Ray patted her shoulder. “Only God can give them that,” he murmured. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Eula forced down the tea, wishing Ray had some honey or sugar. He swore it wasn’t bitter to him, just to those who needed cleansing.
Like everyone else, he wanted to know the truth about Ernie.
But even in death, he would never pry that from her cold, dead lips.
“I did. Happened just a little bit ago,” Eula said, the sound of the woman’s scream reverberating in her head. “She’s some place close by.”
A noise rustled outside, and Preacher Ray stood inside the shelter he’d built from the pines and hobbled toward the doorway. After a quick peek outside, he angled his head toward her. “A bunch of the Shadow People have come for my sermon.”
It was time for Eula to go. Even Preacher Ray’s sermons couldn’t save her. But maybe he’d pray for the young women this latest monster was after––even if it would soon be too late.
Forty-Four
Teardrop Falls
Derrick kept a close eye on Ranger McClain as they wove through the knee-high weeds. Perspiration trickled down the side of his face, and he waved mosquitoes and no-see ’ems away. He’d made an enemy of the ranger on the last case when he’d questioned him about his past, and the fact that he’d worked multiple Search and Rescue missions involving the missing children. McClain was intense, a loner, and had grown up in foster care. He also had a history in juvie and one of his foster fathers owned a mortuary.
The fact that the Weekday Killer sewed the victims’ mouths shut as a mortician would do wasn’t lost on Derrick. There was no telling what atrocities McClain had seen––or done––growing up living above a funeral home.
He’d also led Ellie to the second victim. “McClain, what made you think of this place?” Derrick asked.
The ranger cut his brooding eyes toward Derrick. “Ellie told me about the rhyme, so I looked at the map. This place is known around these parts for mourners who want to grieve the loss of their loved one.”
“Isn’t there some legend about the tears forming the falls?” Ellie asked.
Cord gave a small shrug, then hacked at the overgrown path to clear their way up the hill. “Some say that the overhang from the falls used to be dry until three teenagers years ago formed a suicide pact and jumped to their deaths.” His voice turned gruff. “Supposedly the families and the girls’ classmates joined here for a prayer vigil, and there were so many tears shed that it looked like a waterfall. Ever since then the waterfalls run and pool in the gorge below.”
They stepped over a rocky creek bed, where the water was so clear you could see minnows swimming below, and a nest of turtles on the muddy bank. As they climbed the next hill, black-eyed Susans sprang up along the path, and a sudden breeze stirred the scent of honeysuckle and something murky, like a dead animal.
Ellie’s breath punctuated the air as they climbed the last incline and she came to an abrupt halt. She stopped so suddenly Derrick almost ran into her.
“This is it,” Ellie said in a strained voice.
Derrick glanced over her shoulder and saw the base of the falls, water dripping over the ridge below and splashing into the pool beneath. A sea of yellow covered the ground, and beside the pool of water lay another woman on a bed of daffodils.
Forty-Five
“It’s not Shondra,” Ellie said breathlessly.
No, this woman was a redhead. Medium build, with freckled ivory skin that looked ghostly against the stark blackness of her dress.
Guilt at her relief that the woman wasn’t Shondra seized Ellie, and immediately she took in the details of the scene. Just as before, daffodil petals dotted the body and the woman’s hands were folded in prayer fashion, yet this time the slash on her throat was more jagged. The makeup had escalated too––the killer had painted red streaks down her cheeks, as if she was crying blood.
He’d also left her dress open at the top, revealing a dark purple bruise. Leaning closer to examine it, she realized he’d carved the shape of a heart into her chest.
“Look at that, Derrick.”
His brows rose. “Maybe a tattoo, and he removed it.”
“Maybe.” Or maybe he was escalating to torture. Ellie laid two fingers against the woman’s skin and went still. “Her body is cool, but not completely cold.” Pulling her weapon, Ellie pivoted to scan the surrounding area. “She hasn’t been dead long. He might still be somewhere in the woods.”
Derrick grabbed his gun from his holster, surveying the area. There was a noise from somewhere, leaves rustling, twigs snapping.
Ellie gestured to Cord. “Stay here and call it in.” She motioned to both men that she was going to search the area, then craned her neck as she inched further up the hill. The ash trees and red oaks shrouded the sunlight, making it hard to see, but the movement of foliage broke the silence.
Charging forward, she tripped over a tree stump, but grabbed a vine to keep from tumbling down the ravine. Derrick was close behind her, his movements as stealthy as a cat’s.
Ellie reached a section where the creek was overflowing again. There was no time to take the long way around, so she trudged through the ankle-deep frigid water, shivering as a bone-deep cold seeped through her.
Peering ahead, she spotted movement. It was a tall figure, with broad shoulders. A man wearing a black ski cap. But he was so fast she couldn’t distinguish any details.
Snatching a tree limb, she hoisted herself up a steep incline, hoping for a better vantage point. A few more feet, and she’d reach the crest of the hill, where she’d hopefully be able to catch a glimpse of his face.
But just as she latched onto
a vine to swing herself across the ravine, which fell a good seventy-five feet below, a shot rang out. The bullet pinged by Ellie’s head, then another one zinged, snapping past her. Derrick cursed as he ducked. Using her feet, she swung her body in an attempt to propel herself to the other side. Another bullet skimmed her hand, the sound vibrating in her ears, and the vine slipped between her fingers.
Flailing to hang on, her body swung back and forth, and she attempted to jump back onto the ground beside Derrick. He lurched to his knees, firing at the shooter, who’d run up the hill.
Her feet finally connected with vines and weeds, and she released the vine in her hand, but she missed the edge and hit the side. Frantically trying to slow her descent, she tucked her body and curled on her side, rolling down the hill.
As she descended, her vision blurred and she crashed headfirst into a jagged rock.
Forty-Six
“Ellie!” Derrick’s heart raced as she slammed against the boulder. For a second, she lay so still, he thought she’d passed out. His foot skidded on the ledge, sending rocks crumbling down, and he barely stopped himself from toppling down the hill himself.
Ellie lifted her head slightly, yelling for him to go after the man. He sprinted up the next hill, pushing through weeds and brush, shoving tree branches aside as he scanned the woods for the shooter. A shift of the bushes to the right caught his eye, and he veered around a cluster of rocks. Behind him, the sound of vultures hissing and grunting filled the silence.
Sweat trickled down his neck as he ran, his gun at the ready as he examined the landscape. His boots pounded the foliage, snapping twigs and sticks, the soggy ground near the creek sucking at his feet like quicksand.
Before he could land a clean shot, another bullet pinged toward him. He ducked behind a pine, swung his gun up and fired at the shooter. Chasing the shadowy figure, he maneuvered from one tree to the next until he reached the crest. A trail led to the left.
