by Stone, Mary
“Sucks to be you.” Ellie went to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water for Jillian. She lingered in front of an ice-cold beer and settled on a water for herself.
Ellie returned to the living room, and Jillian arched an eyebrow. “I’m not sure whether that’s a good sign or not. I thought you’d grab a beer, or two, personally.”
“I’m being nice. Don’t make me regret it.” Ellie took a long swing of the cold water and set it down away from her bag so it wouldn’t sweat on the fabric.
“Fair enough. Make any headway on Charity’s case?”
“Not really. Clay got called to the ACTeam office, so I spent most of the day rebuilding Charity’s timeline for the last three years of her life, based on the information I have.” She unzipped her bag and pulled out a thick stack of copied papers. “I printed off the letters Charity sent to her little sister a few times a month so I could bring them home and look them over.”
“Clay?” Jillian waggled her eyebrows. “I guess working with Agent Lockwood is going well then?”
“That’s all you got from what I just said?” Ellie took another sip of her water to hide the heat that was rising up her throat, sure to streak her cheeks. “He’s no Jacob, but he’s laid back and doesn’t treat me like an imposition.”
“So, you’re saying he’s better than the other guys?”
Ellie wrinkled her nose. “The bar was set low, but yeah, he’s easier to work with than some of the other guys. He isn’t intimidated by me.”
“That’s impressive. What about the new guy? Did you meet him yet?”
“Detective Valdez? We’ve run into each other, but he’s assigned to the Kingsley case and I’ve been warned to stay in my lane.”
Jillian grimaced. “Ouch.”
“It was a bit of a blow, but Fortis has been given orders he has to follow. I can’t blame him for trying to keep me away from the case.”
“Key word…trying.”
Ellie lifted one shoulder, giving Jillian an impish grin. “He never said Clay couldn’t look at it.”
Jillian leaned forward, eyes sparkling with delight. “Now I’m interested. Is Agent Lockwood doing a bit of recon on your behalf?”
“Not really. But he’s put out some feelers, and he’s making sure we don’t get caught unawares. If Kingsley resurfaces, I’ll know as soon as ACTeam does.”
“I can see why you’re already on a first name basis with the FBI guy.”
“He’s a decent guy and a good partner.” Ellie’s gaze went to the overwhelming pile of letters she still had to wade through. “This case is a tangled mess, and if I have to work with someone, I’m glad it’s him.”
“Are you saying you don’t want me to tackle some of these for you?”
“Really?” Hope soared in Ellie’s chest, and she was sure it gleamed from her eyes. “Are you sure you’re up for it? I’m looking for any clues and trying to build a timeline of her movements based on the information in the letters. It’s tedious as hell.”
Jillian opened a drawer in the end table beside her, producing a pen and one of the many yellow legal pads Ellie favored that were scattered throughout the apartment. “Anything is better than watching more soap operas.”
Having Jillian working by her side again renewed Ellie. Shaking off the fatigue, she split the stack in half and handed one half to her friend. “They’re in order, so I’ll give you the first group. I’m looking for dates, locations, and anything that catches your eye. Her little sister, Hope, mentioned Charity was worried that her lifestyle was going to catch up with her. So, any names or circumstances that seem significant at all need to be noted. I’m hoping we can find a common denominator.”
“Got it.” Jillian already had the first one in front of her, jotting down the date from the top of the letter. She went still as she read through the letter once, then again as she took notes awkwardly, with one arm still in its sling.
Ellie wrote down the earliest date from her stack and sat back to read the letter without distraction, leaving the note taking for the second pass like Jillian was doing. She went through letter after letter this way.
Ellie was near the bottom of the pile when she sat up, rereading the note as dread built in her stomach.
Dearest Hope,
I’m sorry it’s been so long since I wrote. Things have been crazy here. Another girl went missing and I don’t know what to do. Savannah says she thinks she knows who did it, but she’s scared to tell me. She’s convinced he’ll come after her too.
Hope, she was shaking when she said it, but even after I told her she was being paranoid, she wouldn’t let it go. I thought things would be better in the morning, but Savannah called her parents yesterday and they were on the next plane out to Vegas. They picked her up and tried to get me to come with them, but I didn’t want to.
Hope, I wish we could talk. My head is such a mess. I want to come home, I’m just afraid Mom and Dad won’t forgive me. I know they’re angry, but I was angry too. I was so stupid. Whatever you do, Hope, don’t leave home. It’s not safe out here. Things can get so stressful, but at least you have a safe place to sleep and you don’t have to worry about your best friend leaving you to fend for yourself. I’ve been hitching with Savannah since I left Charleston.
I have some decisions to make and I’ll be looking for a sign that will tell me what to do. Pray that I find the sign, will you? I’ll write again soon. I love you, muffin.
Love always,
Charity
Ellie’s heart raced as she finished reading the letter for the third time. Every letter before this one had been flippant, reading more like a postcard from an extended vacation than a letter home to a beloved sister Charity hadn’t seen in three years. But this one was different. It had been postmarked on the day after Charity’s call home, and Ellie wondered if whoever had spooked Savannah could be involved with Charity’s murder.
She turned to Jillian, who was organizing the notes she’d taken after setting her last letter facedown with the others she’d finished. “Did you see Charity mention someone named Savannah?”
“More than once.” Jillian pointed to her notes. “The first time her name comes up is about six months after Charity ran away. They met in Denver after a run-in with an aggressive motorist. The man saw Savannah asking for rides at a rest stop and attacked her. Charity intervened and may have saved Savannah’s life. The man took off, and they rode together after that.”
“I’m sure she didn’t mention to her young sister the particulars of what she did in between rides?”
Jillian shook her head. “Not that I saw here. She doesn’t reveal much about Savannah, but she did mention more than one trucker thought they were sisters.”
“She probably had dark hair like Charity.”
“That’s not much to go on.”
Ellie already had her laptop open, logging into Charleston PD’s secure VPN. “Did Charity say anything else about Savannah?”
Jillian went back to her notes, finding the corresponding letter. “Here, when they first met. Savannah went to Denver because she’d never seen snow. She didn’t like the cold, but she didn’t hate it enough to go back home. She missed the white sandy beaches and sneaking out to party with college kids during spring break.”
“White sand rules out the West Coast and Gulf states. Add spring break, and I’m thinking Miami or South Beach.” She filled in the search form on the missing person’s database, answering as many questions as she could before hitting send. The search took less than a minute, but there were more than two dozen results. “We need a little more. Did she mention any birthmarks or anything like that? Or how old Savannah was?” Ellie let out a small breath of frustration. “I didn’t realize Savannah was such a popular name.”
“She was the same age as Charity, or close to it. Charity never explicitly says so, but you can tell by the way she talks about Savannah. She sees her as an equal. At her age, she would have been protective over anyone younger than her and she would look up to a
nyone older than her.”
“That makes sense.” Ellie added the age range, putting Savannah within a year of Charity’s age. “That narrowed it down to nine. Anything else?”
“No. Oh, wait. Right here. One of the truckers paid to have their nails done, then made a big deal out of paying full price when Savannah was missing the middle toe on her right foot. Savannah was so embarrassed, she was in tears, and they left while the man was in the back room getting a massage.”
“Perfect.” Ellie updated her search, smiling when only one result came back. “There she is. Savannah Leanne Vanderbilt.”
Jillian gasped. “Like the Vanderbilts?”
“That seems like a strong possibility.” Ellie scrolled to the end of the file. “Right here where it says her missing persons case was closed, it notes she confirmed her safety via the local police station in Nashville, Tennessee. They verified her identity and a Nashville detective signed off on the case. That would be one hell of a coincidence that she ended up in Nashville with the same name as one of the most prominent families in Tennessee.”
“Let’s look her up.”
Ellie switched to the web browser, but Jillian was already beaming at her cell phone triumphantly. “You have her number already?”
“I do.” She tapped the screen and put the phone on speaker, setting it on the coffee table between them.
A woman with a soft, friendly Southern accent answered on the third ring. “Nashville Women’s Services. This is Leanne speaking. Are you safe to talk?”
“Hi, Leanne. My name is Detective Eleanor Kline from the Violent Crimes Unit in Charleston, South Carolina. I’m here with my colleague, Jillian Reed. Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?”
Leanne hesitated. When she spoke again, the friendliness was gone, replaced by a guarded tone. “What is this regarding?”
Ellie and Jillian shared a look before Ellie tried again. “Leanne, what kind of services does your business provide?”
“Safety and relocation. Some legal services and job training. Honestly, a little bit of everything.”
“Are you operating a shelter?”
Leanne cleared her throat. “Nashville Women’s Services is a domestic violence shelter, but we provide other services to help women escape dangerous situations. Everything from relocation services to free legal aid, helping establish a new residence and paying bills. Whatever our clients need, we provide. We don’t ask many questions, and most of our residents go by their first name or a nickname to protect their private information. I’m not able to talk to you about specific clients for their safety, so if you’re calling about one of the women we assist, you’ll need to speak to our lawyer. She can be reached at—”
“That won’t be necessary, Leanne. I’m not calling about any of the shelter residents. I’m more interested in a young woman who is probably on your staff. Her name is Savannah, and she traveled with another teen runaway named Charity Parker.”
The silence was instant. After a long beat, Leanne let out a shuddering breath, clearing her throat. “No one has called me Savannah in over a decade. I go by my middle name now, Leanne.”
Ellie wanted to do a cartwheel but managed to maintain an air of professionalism. “Can I ask why?”
“Savannah was the old me. I’m not proud of the life I led before, and I’ve gone to great lengths to distance myself from my past. I left that life behind a long time ago, Detective. Whatever Charity told you, I haven’t seen her since I was nineteen.”
Ellie’s next words got stuck in her throat. Savannah didn’t know her friend had been murdered. Ellie glanced at Jillian, who was equally rigid. No one liked to notify friends and family their loved one had died, but it was even worse when they clearly didn’t expect the news.
“Is there something you’re not telling me, Detective? Is Charity in some kind of trouble?”
“Miss Vanderbilt, I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but Charity was found murdered near Phoenix, off Interstate 8, twelve years ago.”
“Twelve years ago…” A strangled sob escaped Leanne.
Unable to comfort the woman, Ellie let the news sink in, giving her a moment to come to grips with a death that was still new to her. “I’m handling her cold case, and we came across letters she’d written to her sister. She mentions you quite a few times.”
“Hope.” She sniffled, and there was silence once again. “Do you know what happened?”
Ellie blinked, surprised by Leanne’s calm voice after such a visceral reaction. But she ran a shelter for women, most likely using what she’d learned on the streets to help women just like her escape abusive situations and start a new life. She’d probably seen as much violence and devastation as Ellie had, yet she continued with her mission and provided a beacon of hope for women who likely had nowhere else to turn.
“She was beaten with a blunt object, then swept away in a desert wash during a flash flood.”
Leanne inhaled sharply. “She was alive when she went into the water?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“Poor Charity. She didn’t deserve that. No one does.”
“That’s why we’re calling. Leanne, I was going through some of the letters she sent home and she mentions you were scared before you called your parents to come get you in Vegas. Can you tell me what prompted you to go home after running away?”
“Girls started disappearing.” She sniffed and blew her nose. “I know that sounds stupid, and the Vegas officer I tried to report one missing girl to told me the same thing. We were truck stop bunnies. You know, we traded um…services for transportation and money. We mostly stuck to Interstate 15 and Interstate 8. You wouldn’t believe how much of the country you can see on those routes. We got to know the other bunnies, and you know when someone’s missing.”
“Who did you try to report as missing?”
“Sheila Walker. Not Walter, Walker. She left with a trucker everyone called Lucky, and we never saw her after that.”
“Did you ever ride with Lucky? Do you know his real name?” Ellie flipped to a new page and noted the nickname.
“No one knows his real name. But he was proud of that handle, you know? It was written on the side of his truck with a four-leaf clover.”
“Did any of the other girls have a problem with Lucky?”
“No. Everyone thought I was crazy. ‘Lucky’s a good guy,’ they said, but he gave me the creeps. I’d catch him staring at girls walking by his truck, and he would wink at me.” Leanne gave a nervous laugh. “I know staring isn’t a big thing, but he was really intense, like he was trying to read their auras or something. Sheila thought Lucky was hot, even though he was a little older, and she was always flirting with him. He ignored her most of the time, then one day, she waved to me from his truck, and that was the last time I saw her. If you haven’t looked near where you found Charity, I would look for Sheila there. I don’t care how good-looking that man was, and how charming, there was something off about him.”
Ellie braced herself to relay more news, and Leanne picked up on her silence.
“You already found Sheila, didn’t you?”
“Outside of Conway, Arkansas. She put up a good fight until her last breath. I don’t know if that gives you any comfort.”
“It doesn’t.” Her abrupt retort startled Ellie. Up until that point, Leanne had been polite and more than helpful.
“I’m sorry for your losses. I know this is a lot to take in. If you’d like me to call back another time—”
“No, let’s get this over with. We knew the risks we were taking, and we still played with fire. I wish with every fiber of my being that Charity had come home with me when I asked her to, but I did what I could. If I’ve learned anything from running the Nashville Women’s Services center for the past five years, it’s that you can’t help someone who isn’t ready to be helped.”
“You’re right about that. There’s nothing you could’ve done for either woman back then, but Leanne, you have be
en incredibly helpful now.” Ellie tried to portray to Leanne in her voice just how much she had done. She’d given them the first real solid lead. “Is there anything else about Lucky that you can tell us?”
Leanne was quiet for a few moments, and there was the sound of her leaning back in a squeaky chair. “Other than that he drove a large rig with a sleeper cab with his name on the side, I’m not sure I ever knew anything else.”
“What about a company name?”
“Lucky was an owner operator and hauled all over the country. His rig never changed, but he picked up a different trailer at every stop. That was twelve years ago. I couldn’t begin to remember what companies he hauled for, and I’m sure that’s changed.”
“What about a physical description? What did Lucky look like?”
She let out a sigh. “Tall, reddish-brown hair. Late thirties, maybe forty. Seriously good-looking. That’s about it. Look, I don’t want my name wrapped up in this. I’ve turned my life around, and I’m not that person anymore. I don’t want my past coming back to bite me in the ass.”
“I understand,” Ellie assured her. “I appreciate your help. If you think of anything else, let me give you my—”
Leanne hung up without saying goodbye.
14
Ellie met Clay at the door as he walked into the Violent Crimes Unit early the next morning. Shoving a cup of coffee into his hand, she didn’t give him a chance to sit down. “Jillian and I went through all those letters, and we found something.”
Clay arched a brow and sipped from the cup without nearly as much enthusiasm for her news as she’d expected. “I’m listening.”
She’d been sitting on her discovery all night and was about to burst with excitement. “Don’t get all riled up.”
He took another long pull of his coffee and shrugged. “I’m not much of a morning person.”
“Oh. Noted. Come on. There’s more.” She grabbed the document she’d sent to the printer and headed for the door. “I’ll explain in the car. I interviewed a woman Charity mentioned several times in the letters to her sister. The woman, Savannah, who goes by Leanne now, told me she tried to report Sheila Walker missing after she hitched a ride with a trucker everyone called Lucky.”
