by Rita Herron
The delivery nurse, Clara Huckabee, had retired long ago. Grogan had tried to reach her at her home, but Derrick made a quick phone call and learned she’d moved to a small house outside of Cleveland in a neighborhood of tiny houses that had been built for seniors.
He held his breath as Ellie sped around another curve, driving way too fast for his comfort zone. The mountain ridge dropped hundreds of feet below, without a guardrail, and offered a perilous view of the brush below. Massive pines had crumbled like matchsticks into the ravine during the recent tornado.
If Ellie’s search for the truth had triggered a killer, Ellie’s life was in danger. His gut clenched at the thought of this latest maniac coming after her.
The Jeep bounced over a rut in the road, jolting him, and he saw the strain on her face. Ellie would never confess that she was afraid, but she had to be. She’d admit she was angry, though, and she would let that drive her. Which meant she needed protection even if she didn’t want it.
Turning off the mountain road, they ended up in the retirement neighborhood called Peaceable Kingdom. On the acres of land, homes had been built among the apple orchards. There was a flower garden behind the pond, and birdfeeders were scattered along the property.
They found Clara’s address, parked at the pale-green bungalow and walked up to the porch. Before they knocked, the door squeaked partially open and the barrel of a shotgun appeared.
Derrick and Ellie froze. “Ms. Huckabee,” Derrick said as he held up his credentials. “Don’t shoot. I’m Special Agent Fox with the FBI and this is Detective Reeves. We just want to talk.”
“Go away. It’s not safe to talk,” the little woman shouted.
“Clara, please, I promise no one knows we’re here,” Ellie said. “But we need your help. It’s really important.”
Ellie lifted her hands to indicate she didn’t pose a threat, then slowly stepped forward. “We can sit out here on your porch if that makes you more comfortable.”
“No, you have to come inside. I don’t want anyone to see me talking to you.”
They climbed the steps to the porch, and Clara eased the door open and waved them in. She lowered the shotgun beside her and gestured toward a sitting area. The house was small, with an open concept, but neat and tidy. Ceramic kitty cats lined a bookshelf and a basket of knitting needles and yarn sat by the side of a comfy armchair.
Clara had silver hair, couldn’t weigh more than a hundred pounds and clutched a shawl around her frail shoulders. She sank into the chair and propped the shotgun beside her. “You can’t tell anyone I talked to you.”
“What are you afraid of?” Ellie asked gently.
Clara tugged the shawl tighter around her shoulders. “I saw you on the news. Someone killed Vanessa.”
“Yes, that’s true,” said Derrick.
“That’s why we’re here. Had you talked to Vanessa recently?” Ellie asked.
The little woman shook her head. “I helped deliver her years ago, but I didn’t keep in touch with her or any of my patients.”
“Yet you remember her?” Ellie pointed out. “Like, you said it was a long time ago. Over thirty years.”
The chair creaked as Clara shifted. “Her mama died in childbirth,” the woman finally said. “I never could forget that.”
“Why is that?” Derrick asked.
Clara looked down at her gnarled hands. “It’s not easy watching a mother die and leave her baby behind,” she murmured.
“I imagine not,” said Ellie, “but was there something about her death that especially bothered you? What happened?”
“That’s just it,” Clara said. “I don’t rightly know what happened. Wanda seemed fine after she gave birth, wanted to hold her baby. Then I went to check on another patient and when I got back, Vanessa’s mama was in distress. One of the doctors pushed me aside, and the baby started screaming, so I tried to soothe her. But… that woman died right there with her baby crying for her.” She fluttered a hand over her white hair. “Thank goodness the grandma was around to take the infant.”
“Was an autopsy done on the mother?” Ellie asked.
Clara shook her head. “Doc said it was natural causes. But… I wondered.” She clucked her teeth. “Seemed like something went wrong, and the doctor just covered it up.”
A strained silence fell for a full minute. “Why didn’t you tell the police?” Ellie said softly.
Turmoil shadowed Clara’s face as she looked up at Ellie. “This other nurse went to the chief of staff asking questions.” She trembled. “Two days later, she ended up dead.” Tears trickled down Clara’s face. “I know I was a coward then, but I didn’t want to end up dead too.”
97
Crooked Creek
Ellie contemplated the older woman’s statement as she and Derrick entered the police station. According to Clara, the doctor who’d delivered Vanessa had been killed in a housefire a few months after Vanessa’s birth, so that too was a dead end.
There had also been no investigation into the other nurse’s death. Records said she’d died in a car crash, but Clara seemed to think that it wasn’t an accident at all.
Angelica Gomez was waiting in the station. She looked anxious, her deep brown eyes troubled.
“I’m going to look at Gillian Roach’s phone records,” Derrick said. “Unless you want me to handle the press.”
Ellie’s gaze caught Angelica’s across the room. “Thanks, but I’ve got it.”
“Can I use your office?”
“Sure.”
Bracing herself, Ellie crossed the room to Angelica. Her cameraman stood ready to shoot.
“New crew?” she asked.
Angelica gave a small nod. “Barry’s mother got sick a while back. This is Tom.” She didn’t necessarily look happy about the change.
“Is that what’s bothering you?” Usually, Angelica appeared unflappable.
Angelica adjusted her mic but didn’t quite make eye contact. Dark circles rimmed her eyes, and she looked as if she’d had as much trouble sleeping lately as Ellie.
“Just tired,” Angelica said. “Working overtime on this story and my boss is pushing me for an interview with some local author, Preston Phelps, which is hardly a scoop, but the guy won’t even return my calls.”
“Have you got anything on that church?”
“The women are suppressed, just as you and I both thought. One lady said Agnes Curtis was pregnant when she and her husband joined Ole Glory. She tried to befriend Agnes, but the husband forbade his wife from socializing.” Disgust laced Angelica’s voice. “I don’t understand why she stayed with him.”
“Abusers have a way of manipulating vulnerable women,” Ellie said, not ready to share the details about the familial match.
The cameraman called Angelica’s name, then checked his watch. “Are you ready?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be. Let’s do it.”
The reporter pasted on her professional face and introduced herself. “This is Angelica Gomez, Channel Five news, coming to you live from Crooked Creek Police Department where we have an update on the latest string of crimes in the area.” She pushed the mic toward Ellie. “Detective Reeves?”
Ellie lifted her chin. “While Sheriff Waters and his team are investigating the wildfires raging through the Appalachian Trail, my department has been working diligently to uncover the truth about several shocking deaths this last week.” She paused. “We have now identified each of the victims. Victim one, Gillian Roach, a social worker from Cleveland, Georgia was found dead at Winding Rock. Victim two, Katie Lee Curtis, a high-school student from Pigeon Lake, was found at Teardrop Falls. Victim three is Vanessa Morely, a waitress from Stony Gap. Her body was discovered at a place called Death’s Door. And our latest victim, Janie Huntington, a housekeeper also from Pigeon Lake, was found at Cold Springs. While the victims vary in age, we are trying to ascertain if there is a connection between them.”
“Detective Reeves, are we dealing with one killer?”<
br />
Ellie hated to stir panic, but the town deserved the truth. “We believe one perpetrator is responsible, although at this time we have no specific person of interest. We do know this, that the killer has used a different method of murder for each victim, yet for some reason he feels compelled to create a monument of stones around the bodies.” She had debated on divulging that detail but decided it might trigger a witness, friend or family member to come forward about the killer. But she was going to hold back on the hourglass carving.
“Is it true that this perpetrator torches his victims?”
Ellie could almost hear the horrified ripples of shock that the information would elicit. But lying to the people she was supposed to protect would only cause more distrust. “Yes, he has set fire to the bodies, although that was done postmortem. We think he may have done it to destroy evidence.” She refrained from pointing out that it could have been due to a sick perversion. Some people would draw that conclusion themselves without her planting the grisly images in their minds.
“If anyone has information regarding any of these crimes, please call the sheriff’s office. And please be safe and vigilant out there, ladies. This man has no specific victim type. If you’re approached by someone suspicious, get away and call the police.”
She paused. “We also have a bulletin issued for another man wanted for questioning in connection with an assault case. His name is Ryder Rigdon. He may be armed and dangerous, so do not approach him, but call the police instead. Thank you.”
“You heard it first hand from Detective Reeves,” Angelica said. “Predators are out there, lurking in the shadows.” She recited the phone numbers for the sheriff’s office and then the Crooked Creek Police Department, then told viewers that a picture of Rigdon was now on screen. “Also, although police are doing their best,” Angelica added, “it’s never too late to learn to protect yourself. Visit our website for information on self-defense classes in the area.” Ending on that note, she signaled for the cameraman to stop rolling.
Ellie started toward her office, but Angelica touched her arm. “I know you, Detective. There’s more to this than you’re letting on. What aren’t you telling me?”
98
Ellie gave Angelica a warning look then pulled her into the corner, lowering her voice. She’d promised the reporter an exclusive and figured she might glean more information from the church members than the police. Some people were still intimidated by a uniform.
And so far, Angelica had proven trustworthy. “What I’m about to tell you is not to be aired or shared with anyone.”
Angelica crossed her heart with her finger. “Got it. Now spill.”
Ellie explained the familial connection between Katie Lee and Vanessa. “If we determine who fathered them, it might lead us to the killer.”
Angelica’s eyes sparked with interest. “I wonder if that old biddy Maude Hazelnut knows.”
Ellie bit back a laugh at Angelica’s description. “If she does, she won’t talk to me. She hates my guts.”
“How about I give it a try? I can say I’m doing a human-interest piece on the town and what they think about the recent crimewave.”
“Good idea,” Ellie agreed. “Someone at that church might know, too.”
“I’ll get on it right away.” Her phone buzzed, and she grimaced when she checked the number.
“What’s wrong?” Ellie asked.
“My boss again, wanting that interview with Preston Phelps. Apparently, the mayor’s wife asked him to be a guest at the Fourth festivities.” She sighed. “I bought a copy of his book but haven’t had time to read it yet. And right now, I have more important things on my mind.”
“If I know you, you won’t give up until you land an interview,” Ellie said wryly.
Just like she wouldn’t give up until she’d found this killer.
99
Pigeon Lake
Marty Curtis waited until his father had been gone for an hour and checked his mother was still locked in before he snuck out. He crawled through his bedroom window, down the tree by the house until he was low enough to drop to the ground. There, he hunched down and peered around the yard and driveway to make sure his old man hadn’t come back. Sometimes he’d be gone for just an hour and then other times all night.
Marty had no idea what he was doing while he was gone. His father said he was praying for all of them. But how could anybody pray for that long?
Finally deciding the coast was clear, he jogged around the back of the house and through the bushes, then hit the path in the woods that led him toward the road where Will Huntington lived. If that smartass kid knew something about Katie Lee and who killed her, he’d beat the snot out of him to make him talk, just like his daddy had done to him.
His father acted so holy, like such a God-loving man, but he’d ruined their family. No wonder his sister had wanted to run away.
Had she run into the hands of a killer?
He wished to hell he could leave himself. But he’d never leave his mama with the jerk.
They were both stuck until someone did something. Sometimes, when it got real bad, he even fantasized about killing him.
He jumped over vines and downed trees, the scent of smoke from another wildfire making his vision fuzzy as he jogged toward Will’s. Evil thoughts of hurting his father ran rampant through his head, the images giving him an odd kind of pleasure that felt wrong and right at the same time.
Night had set in, the starless sky making it seem pitch black and hard to see where he was stepping. It was so hot his clothes were sticking to him and his pits reeked like he’d just finished gym class. He broke through the clearing then crept along the riverbank until he reached the path to the run-down houses where Will lived.
It was weird that Katie Lee had turned to Will when she’d never mentioned they were friends. Then again, she hadn’t shared much. She’d just kept quiet and suffered in silence, too afraid to move or talk back to their old man for fear of what the asshole would do.
He spotted Will sitting in the woods on a tree stump, throwing sticks into the river. Twigs and dry grass crunched beneath his shoes as he slowed and approached him. Before he got too close, Will looked up, an angry glint in his eyes.
Marty paused, his breath erratic as he stopped beside a tall pine.
“What do you want?” Will asked.
“I wanna know what my sister told you, why she came to you when she was upset.” His defenses for Katie Lee rose. “Did you screw her, Will? Is that what all the secrecy was about?”
“No way, man.” Will lurched up from the tree log and lunged at Marty, pushing him so hard he knocked him to the ground. “Why would you say that?”
“I don’t know, I’m just trying to find out what happened to her.”
“Me, too,” Will said. “Cause my mama is dead, too.”
“What?” Marty staggered sideways in shock.
“Yeah, that detective we saw at Moody Hollow came by and told me.” Will’s voice broke. “I think it’s cause your mom talked to her. Maybe it has to do with Katie Lee. Do you know what’s going on?”
“Shit, no.” Marty stood up, pacing. “I’m sorry, man.”
“What happened at your house? Has your mom said anything?”
“No, Dad won’t let her talk. It’s so screwed up…”
Will’s scowl was full of rage. “What? If you know something, cough it up.”
Marty heaved a breath. “You go first. What did Katie Lee tell you?”
He and Will locked gazes for a tension-filled minute.
Will coughed into his hand, then glanced around.
“She said she heard your parents fighting, said your father said she was a whore’s child and she’d end up a whore herself.”
The air tightened in Marty’s lungs.
“He told her she was lucky he took her in, that her daddy was the worst kind of sinner and that she had evil in her blood.”
Marty swallowed hard to keep from crying like a
baby. “Do you know who Katie Lee’s real father was? Did my daddy tell her?”
Will shook his head no. “I don’t know. She texted me to meet her at the hollow. That’s why I wanted to go there that day. But that’s when we found her murdered.”
100
Crooked Creek
Doing some digging, Derrick found only one fertility clinic in the area that had been in business at the time Vanessa Morely would have been conceived. He phoned and spoke with the chief of staff, a woman named Dr. Pennybaker.
“I’m sorry, but our records are confidential,” she said. “I can’t release the name of a donor or patient without a warrant.”
And he had no evidence to justify getting one. “I understand, but we’re investigating multiple homicides which could lead back to you. If you don’t want your center implicated, then we can clear it up easily. All you have to do is tell me if a patient named Morely received treatment there.” He gave her the dates.
“I don’t appreciate your tactics, Agent Fox,” Dr. Pennybaker said.
“You can talk to me or the press. I’m sure Angelica Gomez would like to interview you.”
The woman cursed. “Hang on a minute.”
“Of course.”
Derrick jotted the names and ages of the victims as he waited. Several minutes later, the doctor returned.
“There was no patient with the last name Morely during that time.”
“Could her name have been deleted?” Derrick asked.
“Not without us knowing it. There was a case of someone hacking into records at another fertility clinic where I worked, so I installed security measures to make sure that didn’t happen here.”
Derrick thanked her, running a hand through his hair after he hung up, looking down at the names again.
He didn’t like where his thoughts were headed. Didn’t like it one damn bit.
