“All right.” He nodded, needing to do something. Needing to get whoever did this to Kayden. “Let’s go.”
Jake approached the scene of the rockslide, trying to be objective but knowing, when it came to Kayden, objective was the last thing he could truly be.
“Check this out,” Landon said, indicating an area just above the ledge.
“Looks like rocks might have been stacked here.” In a conveniently placed pile.
They both turned, looking for something that could have been used for a lever.
“Here,” Landon said, slipping on gloves and lifting a long stick, two inches in diameter. “This could have easily done the trick. We can hope for fingerprints, though with the rough surface and public nature of the area, chances we’d get anything are slim.”
“But you agree it’s obvious the rockslide was staged.”
“Sure looks that way.”
“Rocks don’t stack themselves at the top of a rise. This was Patty’s doing.”
“It couldn’t have been Patty. She’s got an ironclad alibi.”
“Then she got one of her climbing pals to do it for her. Or she hired someone to do it. I’m telling you, Patty’s the only person who makes sense.” Who else would want to hurt Kayden? The thought left a hollow ache in his gut.
30
Jake heard scraping. No, that wasn’t quite right. It was the sound of . . . shoveling, of dirt being tossed onto a pile.
Why was someone digging so late at night? The moon was barely a slit in the sky, leaving little to see by.
The ground was moist beneath his bare feet. It had rained recently. He could smell it in the air.
A flashlight lay on the ground, illuminating a hole—a large hole. The shovel appeared at the top, and a shovelful of muddy earth flung onto the pile nearby.
Who was in the hole?
He stepped toward it, making out Angela Markum standing over what he realized was a grave.
Her husband crawled from it, and they rolled something in—someone wrapped in a blue tarp.
They didn’t acknowledge his presence, just kept at work, now refilling the hole, flinging the heavy earth on top of the body.
He rushed forward, needing to see Candace Banner’s face before they sealed it away forever.
He raced to the edge, pulling up fast to avoid slipping in.
The harsh glare of the LED flashlight illuminated the woman’s face, and bile rose in his throat. Becca?
He stumbled for purchase. They’d killed Becca. He’d known it wasn’t a random hit-and-run, and this proved it. They’d murdered Becca and their precious baby.
Composing himself, he leaned over again, wanting one last look at his wife, but horror engulfed him at the sight of Kayden. Her exquisite face pale in death, earth quickly covering it with every shovelful tossed in. Her eyes were no longer visible, her nose going next, now her lips. Nothing was left to see of her face—only damp, dark earth burying the woman he loved.
“Kayden!” He shot up in bed, a cold sweat piercing his heated skin.
Angela Markum. Wife of the college president who’d killed the young co-ed, Becca, and their baby. Her hair was darker, her sunglasses hiding her eyes except for the briefest of moments, but that’s who the woman in the parking lot reminded him of.
But it couldn’t be her. Angela Markum was still in prison, serving a ten-year sentence for perjury, obstruction of justice, and helping her husband dispose of the co-ed’s body.
He threw off the covers and climbed from his bunk. The waters were choppier tonight, and he stumbled as he moved for the galley to pour himself a cup of cold water.
Bracing his free hand against the counter, he took a long draught, letting the cold water quench the heat burning inside.
It couldn’t be her.
His heart still racing, he lay back down, staring at the cracked-open hatch overhead, a gentle summer breeze wafting through the slit.
Seeing Kayden injured had brought memories of Becca dead on the road flooding back, which obviously was bringing the Markum case back to mind—that was all. Not to mention his certainty that Patty was responsible but being unable to prove it—just as with Becca’s hit-and-run death. He’d been certain Joel Markum was responsible for his wife and daughter’s deaths but had been unable to prove it. The similarities were there, enough to tug at his subconscious. He needed to settle down. He was overreacting. Angela Markum was still in prison.
He lay for hours, tossing, turning, trying to force himself to sleep, but to no avail.
Angela Markum had vowed revenge on him for his part in destroying her perfect life, as she sickly saw it. What if she’d escaped? What if . . . ?
Enough. He grabbed his cell off the nightstand. There was an easy way to put this to rest. He’d call his old partner and confirm that Angela Markum was still behind bars. The day was already in full swing in Boston.
Sam answered on the third ring. “Barnett.”
“Hey, Sam. It’s Jake.”
“Jake? Where on earth have you been?”
“Here and there.” It had been easier to leave his old life behind when no one in it knew where he was.
“You doing okay? It’s been too long, man.”
“I know, and I’m sorry. I just needed some space and time to clear my head.”
“A reporter from California called about you last winter. She told me she had met you and that you were okay, but she didn’t seem to know where you were—or at least wasn’t willing to tell me. I gave her some information about the Markum case . . . and about you. I hope that’s okay.”
“Sure, no problem. It worked out all right. In fact, that’s why I’m calling.”
“Oh?”
“Angela Markum. Please tell me she’s still in prison?”
Silence.
“Sam?”
“I’m sorry, man. She got out about six months back.”
“She had a ten-year sentence. It’s only been four.”
“What can I say . . . good behavior.”
“She gave her husband a false alibi and helped him bury the poor girl’s body. She helped her sicko husband cover up murder.” Not to mention helping him cover up the hit-and-run on Becca. Again, she’d provided an alibi and no doubt covered for him.
“She was a model prisoner. And without you at the parole hearing to speak against her . . .”
“Surely Candace’s parents were there.” The co-ed’s folks had been vehement about Angela’s culpability in it all.
“Yes. The mom was. Apparently the Banners have split up, and Fred’s living somewhere out west. Regardless, the judge ruled that Ms. Markum had served enough time and was no longer a threat to society.”
“No longer a threat? Then what’s she doing out here in Alaska?”
“Alaska? Is that where you are?”
“What’s important is that Angela’s here, too, and I think she’s already begun enacting the revenge she swore she’d get.”
“What happened?”
“It’s a long story. I better go, Sam, but I’ll be in touch.” He needed to inform Landon and all the McKennas. If Angela Markum was in Yancey, no one close to him was safe.
He should have paid closer attention to Angela’s status. Why had he stayed in one place for so long? He knew exactly why. She was lying in a hospital bed.
He exhaled. How far was Angela prepared to go? “Wait. Do me a favor?”
“Yeah?”
“Send me copies of my case files.”
“Sure. What for?”
“I need to remind myself exactly who Angela Markum is and what she’s capable of.”
After giving Sam delivery details and promising again that he would stay in touch, Jake threw on some clothes and raced outside. But he stopped short at the fist-sized rock perched on the hood of his truck. Swallowing, he stepped closer. Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he lifted it and read Nice to see you again scrolled across the surface in black paint.
Angela had caused
the rockslide and probably had been the one leaving the creepy messages all along.
How long had she been watching, plotting out her revenge? Fear racked through him.
Please, Father, not again.
31
“Knock, knock,” Kirra said at the door to Kayden’s hospital room. Carol stood beside her with a beautiful bouquet of cypress flowers in hand.
Kayden smiled. “Hey, guys, what are you doing here?”
“We heard about your accident,” Kirra said. “You know how fast news travels in Yancey.”
“Yes, I do.”
Carol set the bouquet of vibrant red flowers on Kayden’s bedside table. “We wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“Reef.” Kirra nodded at Kayden’s brother in the chair.
He stood. “Kirra. How are you?”
“Better than your sister.”
“Here.” He gestured to the seat he’d just vacated. “Please.”
“Thanks, but I’ll stand.”
“So what happened?” Carol asked, gesturing to Kayden’s leg. “We heard you were climbing. . . .”
Kayden shook her head and then winced slightly. She had to remember to make slow movements or the dizzy spells returned, and then Doc Graham would never agree to let her go home this afternoon, like she was hoping. “Rockslide.”
Kirra took a sharp intake of breath. “Oh, Kayden, that could have been serious.”
“Thankfully Jake was there, or who knows how long I’d have been out on that ledge beneath a pile of rocks.”
“Yes. You are a fortunate young lady,” Carol said, arranging the flowers.
Jake raced into the hospital, needing to make certain Kayden was safe. Well, as safe as someone with a broken leg and head wound could be.
He rushed past Peggy Wilson, waving at her in greeting but not bothering to stop. He pushed into Kayden’s room to find Reef sitting in the chair beside Kayden’s empty bed.
Panic surged through him.
“Where is she?” He nearly ripped Reef from the chair.
“In the bathroom.” Reef’s eyes widened. “What’s wrong?”
How did he explain? “She’s okay? She’s safe?”
“She’s fine. A little cranky because she’s ready to go home, but otherwise fine.”
The pent-up tension released, the adrenaline dissipating with a surge. Thank you, Lord.
Kayden stepped from the bathroom, somehow managing to look radiant in a hospital gown. “Hey.”
“Hey, yourself. How are you feeling?”
“Ready to go home.”
Reef looked at him with a smirk.
“So I heard.” She was so stubborn. Though Doc Graham was a pretty formidable opponent, she’d no doubt get her way. “Let me help you get back in bed.”
“I’ve got it.” She hobbled over on her crutch and shifted to sit, struggling a bit.
“Stop being so stubborn and let the man help,” Reef said.
“I’ve got it.” She plopped on the bed and leaned the crutch against her bedside table.
Jake’s heart stopped at the sight of the flowers. “Where did you get those?”
“Kirra and Carol brought them in.”
“When?”
“About twenty minutes ago.”
“Kirra’s from the area, right?”
“Yes . . .” she answered slowly, clearing trying to figure out where he was headed.
“Like, born here?”
“I don’t think so.”
“How long has she lived here?” He’d met Kirra. She wasn’t Angela Markum, but perhaps she had some tie to her.
“Long enough to hound me every year of school since kindergarten,” Reef said.
“And Carol?”
Kayden clumsily adjusted her blankets. “What about her?”
“How long has she lived here?”
“A few months.”
“Give me your laptop,” he said as panic flared through him.
“Okay.” Reef handed it over. “What’s going on? Is everything okay?”
Jake pulled up an old news article on the Markum case. He found a picture of Angela standing beside her husband. He turned the screen to face Kayden, his gut sinking. “Is this Carol?” Please say no.
“What?”
“Is this woman Carol?” He tapped the screen.
Kayden studied the photo. “Her hair’s lighter, and she looks a bit younger, but, yes, it looks like Carol.”
Bile rose again in Jake’s throat. “What’s Carol’s last name?”
“Jones.” She was looking at him as if he had lost his mind.
He turned to Reef. “Call Kirra and see if Carol’s still with her. If she is, make up some excuse why you want to talk to her—we don’t want to put Kirra in danger—and if not, see if Kirra knows where she is.”
“Okay.” Reef stepped from the room with his cell in hand.
“What’s going on?” Kayden asked. “She looks like Carol.” She studied the screen again. “But it can’t be. It says here her name is Angela Markum. Wait . . . Markum?” Realization dawned, the color draining from her face. “As in the last case you worked in Boston?”
Jake nodded, too choked to speak.
“Kirra, it’s Reef.”
“Yes?” she said, slowly.
“Is Carol with you? Kayden has a question for her.”
“Carol?”
“Yes. Is she with you?”
“No. I dropped her off at her place about fifteen minutes ago. If Kayden—”
Reef covered the phone with his hand. “She just dropped her off at her place,” he said to Jake, who’d joined him in the hall.
“Ask where home is,” Jake said.
“Where does she live?”
“Carol?” Kirra asked, confusion filling her tone.
“Yes.”
“Why the sudden interested in Carol?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I don’t exactly feel comfortable giving out volunteers’ addresses.”
“Carol isn’t who she says she is. Landon and Jake need her address.”
“Is she in some sort of trouble?”
“Yes. Big trouble.”
“Oh . . . She’s renting a place on Sterling Road, next door to Ralph and Mabel Barnes.”
“Gotcha. Thanks.” He relayed the information to Jake, who headed out the hospital door before he’d even finished the sentence.
“Hello?” Kirra said, still on the line. “You can’t just leave me hanging like this. Explain.”
“I will as soon as I have the go-ahead from Jake. In the meantime, just know she’s dangerous. If she shows up at the kennel, avoid her without being obvious and call me right away.”
32
Jake picked up Landon at the station, where he was waiting with a warrant. Luckily Judge Morrell had been at the station on business when Jake’s call came in, and Landon pounced.
Carol’s rental home sat on the corner of Sterling and Thomas Run Road. A small one-story cabin next to the home of Yancey’s fire marshal, of all people.
The cabin looked quiet, too quiet.
Landon signaled he’d cover the back as Jake stepped to the front door with Thoreau.
He knocked. “Sheriff’s Department. Open up.”
Nothing.
Signaling Thoreau to cover him as he entered, Jake kicked in the door.
The front room was dim, the shades closed. Jake scanned the space. A light shone from beneath a door at the end of the hall.
He signaled Thoreau to move as Landon entered from the rear.
They cleared each room they passed en route to the one at the end of the hall.
Jake leaned against the wall and tapped. “Sheriff’s Department. Open up.”
Nothing but the soft sound of . . . music?
Landon nodded, and Jake opened the door. The three men moved in . . . and stopped short.
“What on earth?” Thoreau hitched. “She’s one sick puppy.”
The wall ahead
was a shrine to Jake—newspaper articles covering the Markum case, pictures, and a U.S. map with red circles around towns he’d spent time in before landing in Yancey. Not all of them, but a fair number. Had Angela hired someone to track him? How long had she been planning her revenge? Close to four years stewing in a cell was more than enough time to fixate on someone and to lose sight of anything else.
Articles on Becca’s death, Joel Markum’s suicide, and Angela’s imprisonment—they were all there, along with surveillance photos of the McKennas, each going about their daily life. She’d been studying them for weeks. She was here to exact revenge.
In the center of the twisted collage, and most disturbing of all, was a picture of Jake and Kayden dancing at Cole and Bailey’s wedding, a red target around their heads. What had been one of the most perfect moments of his life . . . and she’d been there, watching them. It made his skin crawl.
“What’s up with the music?” Thoreau said, disconnecting the iPod.
“It was the song Kayden and I danced to at Cole and Bailey’s wedding.” He stepped over and tapped the picture. “The night this was taken.”
“So she’s clearly after you and Kayden,” Landon said.
“Why is she after Kayden?” Thoreau asked.
“She just is,” Landon said, kindly sparing Jake the need to express his love for Kayden for the first time publicly, to Thoreau, of all people. If he was going to express his love, it would be to her.
“Are you sure she’s not just trying to goad you? Trying to make you emotional, so you’re not thinking clearly?” Landon asked.
“I’m sure that’s part of it, but she’s already attacked Kayden and left me several blatantly clear messages.”
Landon arched a brow.
Jake explained the rock left on his truck and the cypress flowers left in Kayden’s room. The same flowers had been left on Becca’s body. “They symbolize death.”
Angela watched from her vantage point with a smile and set her binoculars down. So, he’d found her little presents and the groundwork for her masterpiece. Excellent. The game was in full swing.
33
Jake studied the wall display, following Angela’s tracking, her thought process frighteningly displayed for them, while Landon ran a full crime-scene analysis of the house. It would take the rest of the day but hopefully would produce something of help in catching her.