But before that, about a week after Zoey’s attack, one other woman named Patricia Halsey had narrowly escaped The Strangler. Like Zoey, Patricia had somehow managed to attract attention while The Strangler was trying to abduct her. Nora read Patricia’s description of the man and felt chills going down her spine.
“I don’t really know how tall he was since he attacked me from behind,” Patricia had said. “He tried to chloroform me, and I elbowed him in the ribs. He had this overpowering perfume on him — sandalwood, I think. It made me sick. I struggled hard to get away and he began cursing me, telling me to stay still. He was a strong man, really strong. I scratched at his face and left quite a mark, but I wouldn’t have escaped if the others hadn’t stumbled across me. He was wearing this weird jacket. It was made of some synthetic material, and it was the color of aluminum foil.”
Nora couldn’t bear to read anymore. She was about to step away from the computer when, on a whim, she decided to see what other files were open. One was the forensics file for Zoey’s murder. The note from the coroner declared that Zoey had definitely been poisoned. White baneberries had been added into her smoothie, and she’d died of cardiac arrest as soon as she consumed them.
So the gossip was right — it was just as Kim had said.
“He’s coming back,” Brock whispered suddenly.
Quickly, Nora ran back to her chair. Just as she dropped into it, the door opened from behind them. She hoped the sheriff wouldn’t notice her red cheeks and deep breaths. She heard the door slam, and then the heavy footfalls of the sheriff’s boots as he made his way around them to his large, leather chair.
“What are you up to?” the sheriff asked Nora, any trace of friendliness gone. “I spoke to Matt Whitman and he denies Zoey saying anything about a silver jacket. He says you must have imagined it.”
Nora stared at him. “What?”
“You heard me,” the sheriff said. “Deputy James is actually down at Matt’s house, and I spoke to them both. Matt says Zoey didn’t say a word about any silver jacket. Now what are you up to, Nora?”
Nora shook her head, mute. What could she possibly say? Why was Matt lying?
“Did Zoey ever directly mention a silver jacket to you?” sheriff Ellerton asked.
“Well…no,” Nora said. “She just said she was disturbed about something and wasn’t sure whether to go to the police or not.”
“Ah,” Sheriff Ellerton said. “So she could have been talking about anything or anyone. A noisy neighbor, a rowdy teenager, or perhaps…an ex-husband.”
“Well…” Nora took a breath. “I don’t know. I’d never seen her so disturbed before. She looked like she was on the edge of a breakdown, Sheriff. It was something serious.”
“But she never said the words silver or jacket to you, correct?” Sheriff Ellerton asked.
“No. But she talked to Matt right before she met me, and when I talked to him earlier he said she mentioned a silver jack—”
“Matt says that never happened,” Sheriff Ellerton said flatly. “So you better consult your memory, see if it’s maybe playing tricks on you.”
“I’m not imagining this!” Nora exclaimed, jumping to her feet.
Sheriff Ellerton sighed and scratched his forehead. “Nora, you should leave now. I need to talk to Brock alone. Brock, I really suggest you call a lawyer if you have one.”
“I didn’t do it!” Brock said, his voice nearly hysterical. “I’m telling you, I didn’t kill Zoey. I—”
“Out, Nora,” the sheriff said, his voice stern.
Defeated for now, Nora walked away, still trying to wrap her head around what had just happened.
*****
Chapter 12
Patricia Halsey
As soon as she was out of the sheriff’s office and in her car, Nora scribbled down something she’d made a mental note of: Patricia Halsey’s address. Patricia lived nearby in a small town named Tobacco Springs, an hour’s drive from Milburn. Nora decided today was as good a time as any to pay her a visit. She felt a slight throb in her temple as she thought about the events of the day. Matt Whitman’s lies had thrown her for a loop, but she was more determined than ever that she would uncover the truth.
Tobacco Springs wasn’t much of a town. The tiny main street held a grocery store, a post office and a sporting goods store. Nora drove past them and onto a gravel road that seemed to stretch on forever. Golden stalks of wheat danced in the fields on either side of her, and beyond these were gentle hills upon which stood large piebald cows. Nora finally parked in front of an old farmhouse with a large red barn next to it. Both farmhouse and barn were empty and Nora stood scratching her head at the door, wondering if it had all been a mistake, when a dog’s furious bark suddenly startled her.
A large German Shepherd came tearing toward her, fangs exposed and eyes crazed. Nora froze, knowing that any movement would only aggravate him. When aggression didn’t work, the dog switched tactics and began sniffing her instead, growling softly as he did.
“Down, Gunter.” A woman came through the cornfields with a rifle across her shoulders. She had the hard face of a woman who’d lived through many a barren winter and eyes as blue as a cornflower in summer. She wore loose jeans and a thick plaid shirt, neither of which could hide the strength of her body. At her words, the German Shepherd immediately stopped growling and sat down obediently.
“Wasn’t expecting anyone today,” the woman said. “What’s your business?”
“Patricia Halsey?” Nora asked.
“That’s me.”
“I…I’m awfully sorry, but I’ve come to ask you about an incident from long ago. The Silver Strangler.”
Patricia’s lips thinned and Nora saw her hands tremble slightly as she slowly pointed her rifle at Nora.
“Get out,” Patricia said.
“I’m sorry—” Nora hesitated. “I don’t mean to bring up bad memories.”
“I’m not warning you twice.”
“Look, a woman’s dead. And I think it might be The Strangler who did it.”
“None of my concern,” Patricia said. “Last time I’m saying it. Get off of my property.”
“Zoey was attacked twenty years ago, just like you,” Nora said in a rush. “She escaped, just like you. If you’d only—”
Patricia froze. At her feet, Gunter began to growl again, sensitive to his owner’s distress. Nora inched away from him, not sure if she was going to end up with a hole through her middle from the rifle or a torn jugular from the dog. Each would be equally deadly, she thought.
“Zoey?” Patricia’s voice was softer, with a hint of regret.
“You knew her?!” Nora exclaimed. “I was a friend of hers. Look, please, if you could just help—”
“A friend?” Patricia lowered the rifle. “You’re not a reporter?”
“No,” Nora said. “I’m a… I’m just a concerned citizen. I think the killer’s back, and he’s going to strike again if we’re not quick to catch him.”
“Come on inside.” Patricia sighed. “It’s hot, and I could use a beer.”
*****
Five minutes later, Nora sat on a lumpy sofa with scratched posts, sipping a coke while Patricia drank from a dark, unlabeled bottle. Gunter sat at her feet, chewing on a treat.
“Too bad you don’t want a one,” Patricia said, tilting her bottle. “My home brewery’s famous around town.”
“I’ve got a long drive home,” Nora demurred.
“So what’s this about Zoey?”
“She was killed a few days ago. Poisoned in her own home.”
“Poisoned?” Patricia’s shoulders relaxed. “Well, it can’t have been him then, can it? The Strangler had a pretty obvious M.O. Poisoning wasn’t his style.”
“He’s older now, isn’t he?” Nora asked. “Maybe strangling isn’t his style anymore. The day before she died, Zoey came to me, wanting to talk about a silver jacket. Unfortunately I got distracted, and she went home. She died before I could talk to he
r.” Nora paused for a moment, feeling a familiar wash of guilt and sorrow.
Patricia reached forward and patted her leg. “Wasn’t your fault.”
“Maybe. But I should have helped. I could have helped. All I can think is…” She trailed off. “Anyway, if he’s back, I have to catch him.”
“I hope you do, too,” Patricia said. “So Zoey wanted to talk about a silver jacket? Huh.”
“You knew Zoey, right?” Nora asked.
Patricia nodded. “Yep. Made her acquaintance twenty years ago. Or rather, she made mine. I was pretty messed up after that close escape with The Strangler. I’d wake up nights screaming. My pa somehow contacted Zoey and she came up here to meet me. Nobody else could understand why he struck such terror into my heart, but she did. It took a load off my shoulders. Zoey was so kind to me, and I really needed kindness around then. We stayed in touch ever since. We made it a point to meet once a month or so.”
“When’s the last time you saw her?” Nora asked.
“Oh, maybe three months ago.” Patricia gave an embarrassed smile. “We’d both been real busy, lately.”
“I don’t suppose she was disturbed or in any way different when you met?” Nora asked.
“Nope. Except she was talking about wanting to break up with her boyfriend and not knowing how,” Patricia said, scratching her chin. “I told her to be direct, but Zoey wasn’t like that. She couldn’t bear to hurt people’s feelings. Personally, I think you just hurt their feelings worse later on if you’re not direct.”
Nora sighed. “So no talk about silver jackets?”
“None. Except…” Patricia hesitated. “Last week, Saturday I think, she left a message on voicemail for me.”
“Can I hear it?” Nora asked excitedly.
“Sure.” Patricia fiddled through her phone a bit, then found the message.
Zoey’s voice filled the room and Nora felt chills down her spine.
“Patty? It’s me, Zoey.” Her voice was thin, high. “I’m just calling to…oh, I don’t know. Look, I’m sending you something. Call me as soon as you get it, okay?”
There was a long beep followed by silence.
“Well?” Nora asked. “What did she send you?”
“Beats me,” Patricia said. “I never got another message from her, nor any email or picture. Nothing. I tried calling her but her phone was switched off.” Patricia’s eyes suddenly welled. “I guess I know why, now.”
“I’m sorry.” It was Nora’s turn to lean forward and pat her on the knee.
“What could it have been?” Patricia wondered. “It must have had something to do with The Strangler. You’re right. It’s no coincidence.”
“Is there anything you can tell me about him?” Nora asked.
“Just that he wasn’t human,” Patricia said. She shuddered. “I know some people might laugh at me but, I tell you, that man was pure evil. All I felt were his hands around me, trying to subdue me. I fought like a cat in a trap. His smell overpowered me, his hands were like iron bars. Then, I got lucky. I managed to scratch his face pretty nicely.”
“You scratched his face?” Something stirred in Nora’s memory, then settled down again.
“Yep. Got his blood on my hands.” Patricia sounded almost happy at the thought. “Gave him a taste of pain. I’m glad.”
“I’m glad, too.” Nora said.
“The police looked under my fingernails afterwards, collected DNA,” Patricia said. “Fat lot of good it did them. They never found a match.”
“But they’ve got it in their records somewhere,” Nora said. “So if we could only get the right man now, we could prove it was him. Patricia, it can help…still.”
“After twenty years?” Patricia sighed. “I don’t know. I hope we can catch him…but hope’s wearing thin for me these days. Mostly, I just hope I never have to look into those evil eyes again. Zoey got lucky, that way. She never saw his eyes. I did. They’ll haunt me forever.”
*****
Chapter 13
Home Alone
Nora didn’t know how she hadn’t noticed it before but, by the time she got home, she had a headache that felt like hammer strikes against her temple. She touched her brow and sighed at the warmth of it — what a time to get sick! This was really the last thing she needed.
The sun had already set and, even though it was summer, a chill was in the air. The mountains looked fast asleep. Nora could imagine them leaning on each other and hitching up their blanket of trees. As for her, all she wanted was quiet. Fat chance, though. She had thought after thought racing through her mind, pulling her in all directions.
Matt had lied to the sheriff. Why? Was it possible that he was the murderer? Maybe when he had mentioned the silver jacket at first, it was because he assumed Zoey had told Nora about it. He realized too late that Nora knew nothing about the jacket and was trying to backtrack now, so that the sheriff wouldn’t find out.
Then again…Nora bit her lip. Perhaps she was being too fanciful. Maybe Matt had just forgotten the conversation. He was grieving over Zoey’s death, after all. If she looked at solid facts, well, an ex-convict who stood to benefit from his wife’s death was the obvious murderer.
So which one was it? Or neither?
Third, there was Ronnie Shepherd. Nora still hadn’t forgotten her strange behavior at Mrs. Mullally’s house. Something was going on with her. But what? Was it related to Zoey at all?
Nora groaned and sank down onto the sofa. She didn’t bother turning the lights on or even feeding herself. The air smelled good, though. Like basil and tomatoes. Smiling, Nora cuddled up with pillow and turned onto her side. Then she sat up, horrified. Hazel’s spaghetti! In her rush to see the sheriff, she’d forgotten all about it!
Running into the kitchen, Nora steeled herself to find the sauce burnt to a crisp on the stove. To her relief, it was still simmering away. Hazel must have turned down the heat before leaving while Nora spoke with Brock and two hours on simmer, instead of one, had done no harm. Still, it had been careless of Nora to go out without turning off the stove. What had gotten into her?
She heard the front door click open and a light come on. Harvey peeked into the kitchen, confused.
“What are you doing standing over the stove with no lights on?” Harvey asked, bemused.
“It’s a long story.” Nora sighed. “Want some spaghetti? Hazel made the meat sauce and it looks delicious.”
“About Hazel, she called me earlier today,” Harvey said. “What’s been going on? You let a murderer into our house?”
Nora sighed. She pulled some leftover spaghetti from the fridge and mixed it into the sauce, giving it all a good stir, before getting out the parmesan and grating a small mountain over it all. “I can’t talk about it.”
“Alright. Let’s not.” Harvey took the grater from her, put it to the side and switched off the stove. Then, holding her hands, he lead her to the living room.
“Don’t take this wrong but…you look terrible,” Harvey said, wincing. “I can tell when you’re coming down with something.”
“I’ve got the worst headache,” Nora confirmed. “It’s just…Hazel…and Matt Whitman…and—”
“She told me about your fight, too. She didn’t like the idea of working at the diner, clearly,” Harvey said. “Looks like my idea wasn’t so good after all, eh? I didn’t expect her to get so defensive.”
“I don’t like the idea of her working with Matt Whitman,” Nora said. “Harvey, if I’m right, the man could be a serious threat to her.”
Harvey’s face hardened and his shoulders drew back into a fighting stance. “To our Hazel?”
The entire story came pouring out of Nora. She told Harvey everything she could think of, including her own suspicions and her fear for Hazel’s safety.
Harvey listened patiently, never interrupting her, occasionally asking a question for clarity. “So, to sum it up, there might be a serial killer involved, or it might be Zoey’s ne’er-do-well husband who did
her in and is now trying to distract the police with a tall tale.”
“Right,” Nora confirmed. “I can’t figure out which it is.”
“Well, I’m no detective,” Harvey said. “But I’d say you need two things- first, some Tylenol for your fever.”
Nora accepted gratefully as he handed her a glass of water and a pill. “Second?”
“Second is a good night’s sleep,” Harvey said. “Nothing’s going to change in twelve hours. Put all of this information in the back of your brain and let your subconscious mull it over. You’ll have a clearer perspective tomorrow morning.”
“That’s not very satisfying.” Nora sighed. But Harvey had built up a small fort of pillows around her on the sofa and she felt rather cozy nestling into them. “I feel like I need answers, and I need them now.”
“True. So do I, believe me,” Harvey said. “But if there’s one thing my career has taught me it’s that, whenever I feel that way, the best course of action is always to take a step back and look at it from a new angle.”
“Well, what about Hazel?” Nora asked. “If we don’t stop her, she’ll be in danger.”
“Nora...” Harvey sighed. “We can’t stop her. She’s an adult now, remember?”
“But Matt Whitman—”
“I know. Look, as soon as she told me about her plans with Matt, I called some people I know. They did a background check on him. Matt’s fairly clean. He was in the army, got discharged due to an injury. About thirty years ago, when he was still in his twenties, he got into a bar fight and got arrested for assault. But he’s been clean ever since.”
The Milburn Big Box Set Page 121
