Spirit Lake

by Vickie McKeehan

  He stepped to the back door and tried the knob. It turned easily in his hand. Damn fool didn’t even know how to bolt a lock. She was making this way too easy for him.

  Taking out the cord he’d brought with him, he slipped into the utility room before opening the door into the kitchen. He peeked into the room and saw she was still standing at the sink with her back to him. The running water should be loud enough to cover his approach. He moved toward her just as she turned off the tap. The floor creaked beneath his Italian loafers, giving him away.

  As the old hardwood groaned, Gemma spun around to see Sam and spotted the rope he held in his hands. At the first sight of him, fear took over and clamped down like a vise around her midsection. She felt like she’d already been sucker-punched. Barely able to breathe, her heart raced with adrenaline. Her mind flashed between fight or flight.

  He didn’t look like the mild-mannered banker now. In the early light of morning, his pale blue eyes seemed unable to focus while at the same time he glared at her with a blank expression, like he was unaware of what he was doing or maybe in some kind of a trance.

  “Walk over to me, Gemma. Now! You’re going to stop meddling in things you don’t understand.”

  If today was her last day on earth and all she had left, she intended to make the most of it. “Says who? You?”

  Her eyes darted to the counter in search of anything she might use as a weapon within reach. “How many innocent girls have you killed, Sam?”

  “Believe me, they weren’t that innocent.”

  “Why would anyone believe you? Thirteen-year-olds don’t have much worldly experience. That’s right, Sam. We know Jane Doe’s name was really Catherine Ritchie. You were sixteen when you strangled her on the beach that night, left her without any clothes on, and went back home to mommy.”

  “You don’t know anything about it. Catherine lied to me. She told me she was sixteen. I picked her up outside the movie theater that night in Shasta Lake. I knew as soon as she got into the car that she had been lying all along. Back then you could strike up a conversation using any number of bulletin boards. I trusted those so-called innocent young girls. And they all lied.”

  “Yes, you knew all about online chat rooms by then. They were your salvation at a time when you couldn’t get girls from your own class to go out with you, even when you flashed your money in front of them, it didn’t work. They knew what you were. Charlene Wofford must’ve figured it out, too. Even when you tried to pick up Denise Kelly. Or Greta Todd. Or Brandy Murphy. You failed, Sam, failed because they knew deep down you were a loser.”

  “Females have always been stupid,” Sam spat out. “They don’t know a good thing when they see it right in front of them. Denise Kelly eventually married that loser. What was his name? Randy Coolidge, right out of high school.”

  “But you were never good, Sam. You were mean, from the beginning, always angry about your lack of luck with women your own age. You liked killing young girls too much to make a relationship work. That’s what you did to Chloe. You even had to get rid of your precious little red roadster that mommy gave you. You loved that car, but you had to sell it a week after you killed Chloe Pendleton. It hurt to give up something you wanted to keep. And it hurt even more to unload it on an unsuspecting Radley, a music nerd you never really liked in the first place.”

  “But Radley was the perfect buyer. I knew Radley would never move away. I made sure he stayed close with the loans I gave him, knew he’d stick close to Coyote Wells.”

  “You made sure you’d still get to see the Fiat whipping around town, even if someone else was driving it. That car had so many memories for you. So many young girls jumped into that front seat and drove away into the night with you, disappearing without a trace. But then, Lando and I came along. And Zeb. We weren’t stupid and gullible like Caulfield had been. We found out your secret.”

  “That’s a load of BS. You found nothing that will hold up in court. But I’m tired of listening to the rumors you guys started.”

  “Rumors? Like the fact you had to get rid of the Fiat because it might lead directly back to you? The cops just might figure out that a little red car like the one you owned had been seen lurking in the area, the area around the convenience store where you talked Chloe into coming with you? ‘Have you ever seen California?’ you asked. Chloe was so much younger than you were, so much less worldly. You drove out of Reno that night and drove for hours before you found a motel. It was the night before you took Chloe out to Spirit Lake. She had only a few hours left to live until the next morning when you strangled her with your bare hands and left her next to the shoreline. You didn’t have time to drag her body off into the woods like the others, did you? There were hikers in the area that day. You heard them talking, coming down the trail toward you. You panicked. You ran back to your precious Fiat and started it up. The top was down because you’d been showing off, showing Chloe what a big man you were, showing the poor store clerk what a successful businessman you were.”

  “Shut up!” Sam snapped, annoyed that she’d gotten a few of the details wrong. “I’d driven up to Reno because she’s the one who insisted on meeting me. But, as often happened, Chloe didn’t expect me to be so much older. By the time I walked into the store, her shift was almost at an end. She had this ridiculously low-level cashier’s job that a monkey could’ve done. It didn’t matter if she left early. It didn’t matter that no one would miss her.”

  “She had a family that did.”

  “Then how was I able to convince her to leave so easily? I’ll tell you how. She liked me right away despite my being twenty years older. She liked having an older man show her some attention. I was more sophisticated than any of those jerks she usually hung around with.”

  Gemma knew how to rattle this guy’s cage. “Is that what she told you, Sam? Are you sure it wasn’t all in your head? Are you sure Chloe fawned all over you? Are you sure she didn’t recoil whenever you tried to touch her?”

  “That’s a lie. She couldn’t wait until we turned in to the motel that night. She was all over me in the car. I could barely drive those winding roads in the dark because she was trying to crawl into my lap.”

  Gemma chortled with laughter. “Yeah. Right. Chloe might’ve had sex with you willingly, but that wasn’t your primary goal, was it? You needed another victim, another notch on your belt.”

  He reached over and backhanded her, right in the face, the blow knocking her back a step.

  Rufus came out of nowhere, charging the stranger, using his huge body to knock Sam off his feet where he ended up spread-eagled on the floor. Even with his bum leg, Rolo came tearing out of the other room behind Rufus and grabbed hold of Sam’s fancy dress pants.

  Gemma looked around for a weapon again, this time sliding a knife out of the butcher block. She held it out ready if Sam got to his feet. But that didn’t seem likely. Rufus had stationed himself near the guy’s throat and Rolo chomped down on his ankle.

  “I told you before that you weren’t welcome here. You should’ve listened.”

  Sam started to say something, but Rufus clamped down harder on his neck, preventing the man from talking.

  With her hands shaking, she snatched up her cell phone from the counter and punched in Lando’s number. He picked up on the third ring.

  “What’s up?”

  “Hurry back to the house. The dogs have your serial killer cornered in the kitchen. I can’t promise he’ll be in one piece by the time you get here, though. Better hurry. I want this trash hauled out of my house!”

  Sam sat in the interview room weeping and talking to himself.

  “He’s been blubbering like that since we brought him in,” Jimmy noted.

  Lando and Zeb stared at Sam through a two-way mirror. “How long have we let him stew?”

  “Almost an hour. I have those pictures you wanted,” Jimmy said, handing off a stack of photos of the victims.

  Lando traded looks with Zeb. “You ready?”
<
br />   “As long as he’s waived his rights, let’s do this.”

  Lando tucked the images under his arm along with his notebook and opened the door. Zeb followed him into the room and both men took a seat across from Sam.

  Lando slapped down his legal pad and the photographs. He lined up each one in front of Sam. “You’ve already admitted to killing Chloe Pendleton. Why not tell us about Charlene Wofford? Catherine Ritchie? Cheri Taylor? And Chelsea Fleming?”

  When Sam just sat there and continued to cry, Lando went on, “We know that isn’t all of the victims, especially since we have to include Arlo in there. Why get rid of your competition?”

  The sniveling stopped. “You call that weasel competition? Arlo found out about my real estate dealings. But he wanted more dirt, verification. He made the mistake of leaving a message on Joel’s phone, trying to wheedle out more information.”

  “And you’re sticking with that story?”

  Sam stretched his back. “Why not? Arlo’s not around to dispute anything.”

  “Neither is Joel. How long has your cousin been dead? When did you get rid of Joel?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Zeb folded his arms across his chest. “It’ll be hard to dispute, Mr. Wells. Funny thing about evidence. We got a call from the crime lab just this morning. It seems for the past few years you’ve been posing as Joel Deering. We know that because forensically everything we collected at Joel’s place came back with your palm prints on it, along with your fingerprints and your DNA.”

  “How is it your housekeeper, a woman by the name of Cecelia, knows you as Joel Deering and only as Deering? I showed her your picture. She confirmed you’re the one who hired her eighteen months ago, but during the process posed as your cousin Joel. What did you do with him, Sam? Where’s Joel Deering?”

  “Joel didn’t appreciate the things I’d given him. He stuck his nose into my business one time too many. I foreclosed on that property just so I could get my hands on that magnificent house. I turned it over to Joel to run the place, even put his name on a few of the documents.”

  “When did he find out there were two sets of papers? When did Joel learn that he’d been scammed?”

  “That’s just it, he wouldn’t let anything go. He kept bugging me with questions and wanting to know about why parts of the house were off limits. Then I discovered that he’d broken into my study, my personal space, and found all my trophies, handled my personal things, things only I was allowed to see, to touch, to smell.”

  Zeb tried to keep his voice level. “Personal trophies from your victims. Joel found your stash. When?”

  “Two years ago. Maybe three. I don’t remember exactly.”

  “Is Joel’s body buried somewhere on the property?”

  “Isn’t that what you’re around for? Aren’t you supposed to find out those kinds of things? Why should I do your job for you?”

  “Fine. We have a warrant in the works to dig up every square inch of every piece of property you own.”

  Sam began to chuckle to himself. “Obviously, you don’t know how much of the county I own, do you? It’ll take you years of searching to come up with anything significant. But then what else do you two grunts have to do with your lives?”

  Lando sent him a smile. “That’s okay. I’m a patient grunt with all the time in the world. Those people you stole their houses from will probably want to sue your estate. Somewhere down the line, Gemma and I will see to it that when they do, you won’t be worth a wooden nickel.”

  Sam jumped to his feet, lunging across the table, and took a swing at Lando, who promptly punched him in the mouth. “That’s for hitting Gemma this morning. He’s all yours, Chief Longhorn. I’m done with this loser.”

  “He did that on purpose,” Sam shouted, holding his bleeding lip. “That’s police brutality!”

  Zeb watched Lando gather up his things and leave the room, then grinned at the prisoner. “You took a swing at him first.”

  “He provoked me. You saw it.”

  “Did all those girls provoke you, Mr. Wells?”

  Sam shrank into his own world. “I’m done talking.”

  “Fine. But just so you know, there will likely be a long, drawn-out battle to see who prosecutes you first. The Feds for the banking irregularities, or the state for seven counts of first-degree murder. Either way, get used to a cell, Mr. Wells, because you’re not going anywhere.”

  Back in the hallway, Zeb went to look for Lando. He found him at the vending machine trying to buy a can of Orange Crush. “I think you purposely provoked him, hoping he’d do exactly what he did. You did it to get back at him for hitting Gemma.”

  “Jeez, what gave it away? What’s your point, Zeb?”

  “Just so we’re clear, I would’ve done the same thing if it had been Leia.”

  Lando slapped his future brother-in-law on the back. “That’s what I like about you, Zebediah. Family always comes first.”

  At home, Lando walked in the door hoping to find Gemma alone. But he already knew friends and family had gathered since the incident, never leaving her side all day, hovering to make sure she’d be able to get through the trauma.

  Food of all kinds had been spread out on the dining room table. He grabbed a blue plate and filled it with an assortment of potato salad, scooped up mini crab cakes, piled on crispy shrimp along with several hushpuppies.

  His mother came zipping around the corner with more food, a platter of chicken. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “How is she?”

  “Gemma? She’s a tough nut. She’ll be fine. Might still be sporting a bit of bruised cheek at the nuptials, but nothing a little makeup won’t be able to hide.”

  Lando winced. “I should’ve arrested him sooner.”

  Gemma tiptoed into the room and locked her arms around his body. “No second guessing yourself.”

  He turned around and tilted her chin up, studied the red welt the size of a fist just beneath her left eye. “You put ice on that?”

  “Your mom did.”

  It gave him some satisfaction to know he’d slugged Sam because of it.

  Others began to trickle in around the food.

  “It’s all over town how she held off a serial killer,” Lianne said, grabbing a crab cake.

  Gemma laughed at that. “I did nothing. It’s all the dogs. Rufus and Rolo are my four-footed heroes. Sam forgot we have dogs and made the mistake of thinking they weren’t a threat. That’s why tonight they get treated with people food.”

  Lando cut his eyes to the corner of the room to see Rufus chowing down on what looked like a T-bone steak. Rolo was nibbling on a smaller, bacon-wrapped filet. “I didn’t know there was steak.”

  “Want one of your own?” Gemma asked, zeroing in on his plate. “I’ll eat this. Luke’s out in the yard, grilling. We’re having a feast to celebrate Sam’s arrest. Everyone’s coming.”

  “Zeb was still at the station when I left. He hung back to call the Pendletons in Reno to tell Chloe’s parents we have her killer in custody.”

  “And did you call Kay Armargosa?”

  “I did. I told her after all this time we caught Cheri’s killer. I also called Catherine Ritchie’s sister. It blew Sharon away that she can finally bring Catherine home and that we found the guy who killed her.”

  “How does it feel to bring that kind of news to the family?”

  He brought her closer. “Why don’t you find out? I left it for you to call Chelsea Fanning’s parents.”

  “You did? Why?”

  “Because you’re part of the team that brought Sam Wells to justice. Without you, he might’ve slipped through our fingers for good.”

  27

  The perfect end to August arrived hot and humid. No whiff of a summer breeze stirred the thick, heavy air. Not even the wispy white clouds overhead seemed to be moving. Although the sapphire sky burst with bridal magic, the sun beat down like someone had opened a door to a blast fur
nace.

  If Gemma had worried about the weather, she should’ve been more concerned about the heat. Because along the coast, weather forecasters were calling for a high of ninety degrees, which had her rethinking an afternoon wedding at its hottest.

  “I’m sweating like a pig,” she groaned. Staring at herself in the mirror, she held out her arms in front of an oscillating fan that Leia had set up to cool her off.

  “Good thing I went with the off-the-shoulder gown, otherwise I’d be melting right about now. Can you imagine me wearing lacy, long sleeves?”

  “You’re nervous,” Lianne stated, fluffing the flowing train one more time.

  “How much longer?” Gemma asked. “I’m ready to get this show on the road. I don’t hear any music yet. Did the band show up like they promised?”

  “They’re all accounted for,” Leia assured her. “Stop fidgeting.” She had plaited Gemma’s hair into a caramel braid down her back, then handed off a mirror so the bride could check it for herself.

  Gemma’s hand flew to her headdress, a crown of delicate baby’s breath interlaced with lavender that contrasted with her dark hair. “Does it look all right? It doesn’t look stupid, does it?”

  Leia made one final adjustment to the headband and announced, “It looks fantastic. You look fantastic.”

  Lianne drew in a breath. “It does, and you do. You look absolutely gorgeous. Come on, we’ll walk you out. Van’s outside but he looks nervous.”

  “No, he can’t,” Gemma groaned, making her way out of the bedroom. “I’m counting on him to be my rock today.”

  Van stood in the solarium waiting for his cue to exit out the side door and walk his sister down toward Lando. He hoped he didn’t fall over his own two feet. He looked over at his kids. Allie wore a silky, floor-length frock that was enough like the bridesmaids’ outfits that no one would notice it didn’t match the color exactly. Little Daniel looked uncomfortable in his black suit, but he’d been threatened with no cake if he got grass stains on his pants before the official photographs went down.