She barely had time to get back to town before dark.
For just an instant, she was tempted to keep her earring, but in the end she returned it to the box with all the other…trophies. Then she closed and relocked the box, returned it to its book hiding place, and put the book back on the shelf.
The evidence had to be here. She couldn’t afford to alert the killer to the fact that someone had found his trophies. That someone understood what he had been doing for years.
And, nagged by more than one unanswered question, Jessie knew she had to come back here again before she raised the alarm. At least one more time.
She had to know where he was doing the killing.
AT FIRST, HE was disappointed that Jessie had slipped away before he could get his hands on her. But a moment’s thought convinced him that it would be more fun to hunt her.
Tomorrow, during the festival. That would be perfect. There would be so many people around that no one would notice her disappearance. Or his, for just long enough. And since the festival went on into the night, finishing with fireworks, he would have plenty of time to bring her back here and finish her off.
He wouldn’t be able to spend a great deal of time with her, unfortunately, because the real trick was going to be planting all the evidence necessary to strongly suggest Jessie had merely run away.
Again.
Satisfied with the plan he would embellish later, he got back to the work at hand. He went into the cabin first, just to carefully check and make certain Jessie had not discovered anything she shouldn’t have. The cabin looked untouched, and his prize box was where it was supposed to be, so he felt certain she hadn’t found it.
He left the cabin and went around to the cellar, down into it, then deeper into his trap. He freed his June Rose from his special chair and wrapped her in a plastic tarp. He hadn’t removed any limbs this time, so it was easy enough to toss the bundle over his shoulder and leave his secret room, climbing up out of the cellar.
It was still raining, though only lightly, and thunder rumbled faintly as the storm moved off to the east. With the sky still overcast, darkness was coming sooner, but he still had time enough.
He had already prepared her place in his garden, taking care as always to select the perfect plant to complement all those already in the ground and thriving.
His garden, densely planted and filled with meandering paths and small benches and the occasional tasteful statue, was his delight. He had taken care to plant it so that it was screened from any but the most determined visitors—and that was a kind of visitor he never had out here.
His secret garden.
It took a great deal of effort, and though he had to steal time from a busy schedule, he didn’t need much sleep, so he worked out here every chance he got.
He was either manicuring his garden, preparing it for another lovely rose—or preparing the rose.
He used his time wisely, and today even had the foresight to dig the hole and cover it with a tarp hours ago. He laid his Rose gently on the ground, then removed the tarp that covered what would be her final resting place.
He unwrapped her from the plastic tarp, and laid her naked in the place prepared for her. They had to be in their purest state, his roses, when he planted them, naked and baptized in their own blood. He arranged her carefully, folding her bruised and broken hands over the gaping wounds in her breasts.
He lingered there for a moment, even bending down so he could gently brush a strand of blood-sticky hair away from her temple.
Perfect. She was perfect.
He looked at his left forearm, a where rolled-up sleeve left the skin bare, and studied the tattoo there. A rose all wound about within a thorny cage.
“I said I’d keep you with me,” he murmured. “I promised I’d keep you safe.”
He got to his feet and, whistling, began to shovel rich, dark, wet earth over his June Rose until the depth was right and he could plant above her a lovely pink-blooming rosebush.
FOURTEEN
The passenger door of Victor’s Camaro opened and Nellie got in, bringing with her a wave of faint perfume and bright cheerfulness. “Hey. Did I keep you waiting too long?”
“Not at all.” He paused, thinking rapidly. “It’s still early, but do you want to grab dinner before we go back to my place or yours?”
It was their usual Friday evening routine: dinner and then back to his house or hers, one of them almost always staying overnight.
“Dinner,” she said promptly. “I’m starving, and there’s nothing more in your pantry or refrigerator than there is in mine.”
Victor shrugged as he started the car. “We both prefer restaurants and takeout. Single people can afford to opt for convenience.”
“Single people with a decent income,” she countered dryly. “I have a couple of single friends who’re learning how to cook. Much cheaper to eat at home, and they’re tired of soup and scrambled eggs.”
“I’d get tired of that after a day.” He shrugged again. “So, where do you want to eat?”
There were three good restaurants in Baron Hollow, two downtown and one about five miles away, near the highway that bypassed the little town. There was also the usual assortment of fast-food restaurants and a couple of pizza places, but neither Victor nor Nellie considered them especially satisfying for the evening meal. Even if that meal was a bit early.
“Let’s just go over to Mario’s,” Nellie suggested. “I feel like Italian, and even though it won’t start for another hour, the music is best on Friday nights.”
The restaurant in question was only two blocks down from the newspaper office, but she didn’t suggest that they walk. Nellie knew very well that he liked to be able to see his classic car from wherever he was seated while out in public, not out of any fear that it would be stolen, but simply because he enjoyed looking at it.
He also enjoyed looking at Nellie, of course, but he’d taken care to leave her wondering just which he enjoyed most. Not to play mind games, but because he didn’t want to hurt her, and rejection hurt; as long as she thought he might prefer his classic car to her, she was unlikely to get too serious for his peace of mind.
He did not want to settle down, even in theory, and in practice he found himself inevitably bored with any woman after a time.
Nellie had lasted longer than most, probably because she was no more interested in marriage or long-term relationships than he was, because she had a healthy sense of humor and a robust enjoyment of sex, and also because she got him.
Thinking about it, he wasn’t sure any other woman he’d slept with really had.
“Hey, you missed an empty space,” she pointed out.
He dragged his mind back to the task of driving, forced to circle the block because that empty space was the only one in front of the restaurant.
Friday nights meant downtown Baron Hollow was as busy and crowded as it was ever likely to be—except for Saturday afternoon, which, typical for small towns, was the busiest time of the week.
And, of course, the festival on the Fourth would bring in hordes.
“Something on your mind?” Nellie asked, looking at him with raised brows while he maneuvered the Camaro into that vacant parking space.
“Tell you inside,” he replied absently, concentrating on parking just so for the maximum amount of space between his baby and the cars on either side. He didn’t like dings.
Nellie waited patiently until he was satisfied and they could go inside the restaurant. Inside, of course, he had to greet several people he knew, regulars who tended to come a bit early on Fridays to grab the best tables.
Victor always got the very best table, at the front window, whether he came early or came late.
He flirted mildly with the young waitress, with Nellie looking on in amusement, and she waited until the slightly flustered Allison had gone to fetch their drinks before asking again.
“Something on your mind?”
Victor glanced out the window at
the Camaro, then looked across the table at Nellie. “Yeah. Know anything about the writer staying at Rayburn House?”
“Knew there was one staying there. And that he’s the one who found the body on Tuesday.”
“Gossip, or your source inside the police department?”
Nellie laughed. “That makes it sound so…Big City. My source inside the police department. Yeah, Vic, when I ran into Melissa at the coffee shop this morning, she told me all about him. Well, what the rank and file know about him, at any rate, since Dan tends to use her as a glorified secretary.”
He wasn’t interested in the lot of glorified secretaries wearing police uniforms. “So what did she say?”
“Not a lot. He’s a writer, nonfiction, and he’s here researching local legends and reputed hauntings. Supposed to be writing a book about that sort of thing.”
“There’s enough of that in Baron Hollow to fill a book? News to me.”
Nellie shook her head. “Not just in Baron Hollow. The Southeast. Word is, he’s looking for the lesser-known stories and legends. We’re far enough off the beaten path to provide more than a few of those. We’ve been written up locally, even regionally, but not nationally. At least not until the ghost hunters discovered us in the last couple of years.”
“Some of those stories have made their way onto the Internet,” he pointed out.
“Yeah, but nothing’s gone viral. Books by legitimate writers and researchers are going to get more attention than Internet blogs or fans-of-the-paranormal sites; you know that.”
“Maybe. I also know that with national exposure comes a lot more interest in Baron Hollow. And that means more visits by earnest ‘researchers’ anxious to catch a ghost on video or—what do they call it? When they supposedly get a recording of a spirit speaking?”
“Jeez, I don’t know. And I’m surprised you know anything about this sort of thing.”
“Hard not to know a bit, what with all the TV programs on now.” Victor shrugged, then frowned. “Interesting that a paranormal research group showed up at the same time as the writer.”
Disgruntled, Nellie said, “Why is it that everybody but me knows about them?”
“Answering only for myself, I saw their van when they arrived,” Victor replied, his thoughtful gaze turning once more to the window. “It has the name of their outfit on the sides. And one of those weird logos.”
“Weird how?”
“Oh, you know. Obvious that somebody tried to come up with symbols for paranormal research without making it look like they were in search of Casper the Friendly Ghost. What this outfit came up with was one of those double loops I seem to remember symbolizing infinity, and above it flames and a bird coming out of them. Weird.”
Nellie dredged into her memory and said, “The bird and flames could mean the phoenix. Symbol of destruction and rebirth.” She made a mental note to research the group later.
“Well, whatever it’s supposed to mean, I just find it very interesting and not a little odd that we have paranormal researchers and a writer looking into local myth and legend descend on us at the same time. Especially since practically the first thing the writer does is hike up into the mountains and find a body.”
Nellie waited while their waitress—with another girlish blush for Victor—delivered their customary drinks, took their meal order since neither one of them needed to even look at the familiar menu, and then retreated.
She also waited while two passing customers, newly arrived, stopped to have a few words with Victor. Nellie knew that he enjoyed the social pleasantries but, even more, enjoyed the fact that people stopped to talk to him or waved to him across the room.
Somebody Special in Baron Hollow.
“It’s a nasty subject to discuss over dinner, I suppose,” she said when they were finally alone again, “but what do you think about that body?”
“I don’t think anything,” he replied, brows lifting. “At least, not unless and until Dan has an ID or some idea of how or why she was killed.”
“But you do think she was murdered.”
“I think it’s unlikely, but that seems to be the prevailing theory, since she was found without clothes or hiking equipment. Did Melissa tell you anything different?”
“No. But she did say they’d be lucky to get an ID.”
“Without a skull, very lucky.”
Nellie had wondered whether he knew about that, but wasn’t too surprised that he did. Word had gotten around. It always did.
She said, “Even with so little to work with, the medical examiner in Chapel Hill will eventually be able to give them an approximate height, weight, race, age—that sort of stuff. Maybe even cause of death, if she was shot or stabbed or something else happened that could leave evidence on what bones they found. But without dental records or anything else to identify her…”
“She stays a Jane Doe.” He shrugged. “At least nobody we know is missing.”
“There’s that,” Nellie said.
“Yeah,” Victor said. “There is that.”
“WHY ISN’T SHE answering her cell?” Navarro demanded, using his own to talk to his boss.
“I don’t know,” Maggie replied frankly. “We’ve tried pinging it, and get nothing. Either the battery is drained or it’s off. I’d be more alarmed by that, but her cell goes dead on a regular basis, and she frequently doesn’t notice it right away. Or even for days if she’s involved in something.”
“What about the GPS in her car?”
“The car’s parked at the inn. Wherever she is, she’s on foot or using some other wheels. Or horseback, I suppose.”
“This late? No, all the stables require the horses to be back well before dark, and they’re all accounted for. I checked.” He sighed. “She’s not supposed to be investigating anything here other than her past, right?”
“Those were her orders.” Maggie’s voice turned wry. “But Jessie has been known to…go off the reservation. Fairly often, as a matter of fact.”
“So if she stumbled across something more interesting, she’d start following a different trail?”
“Probably.”
“Without reporting in?”
“It’s possible, Nathan. Maybe even likely. She has a way of…justifying her actions after the fact.”
“Now’s a fine time to tell me that.”
“Sorry. For what it’s worth, I really did believe that uncovering whatever it is that’s been blocking her abilities and causing her nightmares these last couple of years was the most important thing on her mind. And maybe it still is. Do you know for certain that she’s investigating possible murders?”
“No. She asked her sister if there had been any murders in the area—presumably after her encounter with the spirit—but as far as I know, she didn’t even exhibit much beyond normal interest in the remains I found.”
“Then maybe her absence has to do with exploring her past and nothing more than that.”
Navarro hesitated, then said bluntly, “Is she okay? Can you feel that?”
“Everything I feel tells me she’s fine,” Maggie replied. “Physically, at least.”
“So I shouldn’t worry.”
“I didn’t say that. We both know things can go south in a hurry, and with a likely killer operating in or around Baron Hollow…I don’t know. Can Emma shed any light?”
“I’m working on that,” Navarro answered, his gaze on Emma.
“Good luck. When you do see Jessie, tell her I said to call base, pronto. No excuses.” Her voice was as gentle as it always was, but Navarro heard the steel.
“Copy that.”
“Don’t miss any of your own check-ins, okay? Remember, I worry.”
“I won’t forget.” He ended the call and returned his cell to its special case on his belt.
Emma immediately said, “So she thinks Jessie is okay? Even though it’s nearly ten at night and she hasn’t shown up yet?”
Navarro sat down in a chair across from hers. “Maggie for
ms a kind of bond with just about any operative who stays at the main compound, especially over time. A psychic connection. Jessie has lived there the last few years.”
“Okay. And so she can feel Jessie is okay?”
“Physically okay. Not in immediate danger. But part of the reason Jessie is here at all is because nobody could get a solid read on her, not Maggie, not even some of the more powerful telepaths. And that’s a bit unusual, especially for psychics without a lifetime of control or control training behind them.”
“She can read me,” Emma said, frowning. “In fact, she told me that my thoughts kept slipping through her walls even though she was making them stronger here. Because of all the spirits, I mean.”
Navarro frowned as well. “Is that the only reason she was making her walls stronger?”
“She said…it was protection. From negative energy. Said bad guys were as likely to be psychic as good guys, and that the first thing all of you were taught was how to protect yourselves.”
“True enough.”
“I don’t know if she felt threatened, if that was one reason she made her walls stronger. She’s just seemed…unsettled. Distracted.”
“And you don’t know why.”
“It could be normal for her, as far as I know. I don’t know what’s been going on in her head. She’s been seeing spirits, here and all over town. Maybe some of them were bad or dangerous and she just didn’t want to tell me about it. Isn’t that reason enough?” Emma knew she sounded defensive, but couldn’t seem to control that.
“Sure,” he said mildly. But his eyes were intent, and they never left her face.
Emma and Navarro had the small sitting space that was one of the inn’s common areas to themselves, which wasn’t all that unusual so late at night. Some guests were out at one of the two restaurants that offered live music and late hours on Friday nights, but the majority of guests tended to retire to their rooms by now.
Emma was seated where she could watch the reception area and see if anyone came in, hoping to see Jessie, and her gaze kept turning that way even as she said, “How did you manage to survive being shot in the head?”