Wildflower Graves: A totally gripping mystery thriller (Detective Ellie Reeves Book 2) Page 11

  Suddenly the sound of a motor firing up rent the air, and he rushed toward the source.

  It was an ATV. Dammit. Although the NPS protected the wilderness and vehicles were illegal on the trail, some sections were so deserted that people used them anyway.

  Darting ahead, he aimed his gun, but another bullet narrowly missed his cheek, thudding into a tree trunk next to him and sending wood splinters into his face. He kept moving.

  Just as he reached the clearing, the ATV sped into the dense woods ahead. He fired another round at the shooter, but he was too far away.

  A second later, he disappeared in a cloud of dust.

  Forty-Seven

  Battling a wave of dizziness, Ellie pushed herself to a sitting position. She swiped at the blood trickling down her forehead, then wiped the residue on her pants.

  Blinking to clear her vision, she inhaled several deep breaths, struggling to stand. The ground swayed, the world foggy, so she grabbed a tree limb to steady herself, then judged the distance up the hill. A steep incline, but she thought she could make it.

  Pulling her gloves from her bag, she tugged them on. The first step made her ankle throb, and she realized she might have a slight sprain. Ignoring the pain, she put more weight on her left foot, snagged a hefty tree branch and used it to propel herself upwards.

  One foot at a time, one more… another… perspiration beaded on her skin and she heaved a breath. Her muscles protested the steep climb, but the image of the dead women played through her head, driving her forward.

  By the time she reached the edge of the ridge, her hands were aching, her head was pounding, and her gloves were ripped from clawing at the rough bark and bramble. Reaching for leverage to pull her the rest of the way, she held onto a thick tree root and dragged her body over the side. Swinging her leg up, she managed to crawl over the edge and then collapsed, her breath panting out.

  Bushes rustled ahead, and she spotted Derrick running toward her.

  Shoving her tangled hair from her face where it had come loose from her ponytail, she tried to stand. The world swayed again, and she cursed, then blinked, determined to stay strong as he approached.

  But the fact that he was alone made her stomach clench. “What happened?” she wheezed out.

  Derrick’s dark eyes skated over her. “He got away. Had an ATV parked off the way.”

  “He hasn’t used a gun with his victims.” Ellie gestured towards the falls. “But the close proximity to the woman’s body suggests he could be the killer.”

  “If he wanted us to find her, why shoot at us?” Derrick questioned.

  Ellie shook her head. “It’s a game to him, and he isn’t finished. He wants to play out the days of the week.”

  “You’re probably right.” Derrick walked toward her, halting a foot away, his frown deepening. “You’re bleeding.”

  “I’m fine,” Ellie said, shrugging him off. She zeroed in on his cheek. “You’re hit?”

  “Just a shrapnel graze,” he muttered, his voice edged with frustration. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to her. “Let me take a look.”

  “I’m fine,” she repeated through gritted teeth. The sound of the vultures swooping, their wings flapping in the silence, made her turn. “Let’s get back to the body.”

  Derrick nodded, then lifted his hand. “I collected a couple of bullet casings. Looks like he was using a .45 caliber pistol.”

  “So, he has a gun, but he doesn’t use it to kill the women,” Ellie said, frowning. “He slashes their throats instead.”

  “Maybe he uses the gun to force them into going with him,” Derrick suggested.

  “I guess he could be hiding out and stalking them before he ambushes them.”

  “This guy is a sociopath,” Derrick pointed out. “They can be charming, handsome, look perfectly normal.”

  “That’s the reason he can stalk them without anyone noticing,” Ellie said. “Because he doesn’t look threatening.”

  “The worst kind,” Derrick replied. “He could be sitting right next to you and you’d never suspect him.”

  Forty-Eight

  By the time Ellie and Derrick made it back to Teardrop Falls, the Evidence Response Team had arrived, along with Laney.

  Cord met them, his phone in hand. “I have to go, Ellie. A hiker fell off the ledge at Rattlesnake Ridge.”

  “Then go, and Cord,” Ellie said, “thanks for your help here.”

  Darkness tinged his eyes and he turned away quickly, leaving her to wonder again if he was still angry with her. But she didn’t have time to analyze it now. They both had their secrets.

  The investigators were combing the area for evidence, and Ellie had the instinctive urge to wrap a blanket around the poor woman’s body, even though she knew better than anyone not to compromise the scene.

  The ME looked up from where she was examining the victim, her eyes widening slightly, and Ellie realized she must look a mess. Hazard of the job.

  “Are you all right?” Laney asked.

  Ellie shrugged, although her head was thumping like someone had hit her with a hammer. “Took a roll down a hill, but I’m fine, unlike our poor lady here. Are her lips sewn shut like the others?”

  Laney nodded confirmation. “But this scene feels even more brutal than the last one,” she said, pointing toward the blood that had dried on the woman’s neck and torso. “What do you think this means?” Laney asked.

  Ellie cleared her throat. “He carved a heart on her chest because he thinks she doesn’t have one.”

  Forty-Nine

  Skinny Minnie Whiny Vinny. Skinny Minnie Whiny Vinny.

  No, no, no, no! He was not Skinny Minnie Whiny Vinny. Not anymore. The doctor at that nuthouse said he was like two different people, and he was the other one now.

  The strong, smart one. The one who’d make all the women who’d wronged him pay.

  He had friends now, too. Maybe two friends. Yes, yes, yes, the man who’d come to see him at the sanitarium was his friend, too. He never could have gotten out without him. And now here he was, doing favors for him and Hiram. That’s what friends were for.

  Gripping the jar of blood in his hands, he crept through the bushes in front of Ellie Reeves’ house. A car sounded down the road, and he hunkered down and stayed hidden as it passed. A lizard slithered across his foot, and he caught it by its tail and flung it into the yard.

  Dark shadows clung to the front porch as he crept up the steps. The damn front light had been on, but he’d taken care of that with a rock. Inside, a light burned from the kitchen but he could see there was no one inside, just like Ellie’s Jeep was missing.

  Clutching the blood in one hand, he hovered in the shadow, then opened the mason jar. The coppery smell suffused his senses, and he breathed it in, remembering how the woman he’d punished had bled all over him. He’d tasted it when it spurted from her body and spattered his face, a sweet taste he would savor because it meant she was dead.

  Dipping his finger into the jar of blood, he lifted it and began to smear it across her door. He wished he could be a fly on the wall, to see Ellie’s reaction when she got the present he’d left for her.

  Fifty

  Stony Gap

  Three hours later, after the crime scene team finished, Ellie and Derrick parked at Haints. Bryce wanted an update on the case and said to meet him at the bar. Hopefully he had something to share from his interviews with the other dancers and bartender at the Men’s Den.

  “I can’t believe he’s here drinking on the job while we’re hunting a serial killer,” said Ellie.

  Derrick didn’t like Waters, but he was too busy studying the cemetery across from the bar to comment. A wrought-iron gate surrounded the hilly plot of land which was well manicured, with statues of angels and Jesus and holy crosses decorating the various sections. A fog had rolled in, casting the grounds in a dull gray, and wind battered the flowers in the vases at the heads of the graves. “It seems odd to build a bar across
from a graveyard,” he said.

  Ellie shrugged. “It’s called White Lilies Cemetery and has a special section for children, called ‘Loving Arms’. Apparently, the bar owner built it so he could watch over his daughter, who’s buried there.”

  Derrick tightened his hands into fists as an image of his little sister flitted through his mind.

  “Some say at night you can see the little angels running through the white lilies,” Ellie said with a thoughtful look. “Others say the bar is haunted.”

  Derrick wanted to believe that Kim was somewhere magical surrounded by other children, running and playing together. But he’d seen enough of the hell and the evil on earth that his faith was shaken.

  “Might as well get this over with,” Ellie said.

  Derrick followed her into the bar. He’d disliked Waters even more than Cord McClain, but for different reasons. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he sensed the new sheriff had some kind of vendetta against Ellie.

  Even though he and Ellie had their differences, he knew she’d been clueless about her parents’ actions and admired her grit.

  Bryce Waters, son of the mayor, struck him as an entitled, spoiled kid who always got his way, no matter what he had to do in order to get it.

  He noticed Ellie turning her attention to her phone as they walked to the bar and, a second later, wide eyed, she turned it to show him, the color draining from her face. His heart dipped as he read the message on the screen.

  Shondra says hello. You were too late again. Just like you’ll be tomorrow.

  Fifty-One

  Haints Bar

  He’d barely escaped tonight. Detective Reeves was fast. But he was faster. Faster and smarter.

  And he would win this game.

  He swirled the drink around in his glass, grateful for the cover of the crowded bar as he spotted the detective and that agent walk in. Their gaze scanned the room, the detective’s eyes scrutinizing every man inside as if she found them lacking.

  Averting his gaze, he tossed back the drink, pretending she didn’t exist. He’d have to deal with her.

  But not quite yet.

  From his vantage point, he looked through the open-air side of the bar and saw the twinkling lights glittering above the graveyard, sparkling as night fell and the ghostly shadows of the dead rose from the dirt. The statuesque angel stood watch over the little ones buried there.

  He knew just the right woman to take as Thursday’s child. It was time to get back to work.

  Fifty-Two

  “He’s toying with me,” Ellie said in a low voice. “Torturing me by making me wonder when he’s going to kill Shondra.”

  “Bastard. We’re going to find him, Ellie.”

  Ellie wanted to believe Derrick, but they needed something concrete. So far, they were running around chasing their tails, looking for bodies, and had no real suspect.

  Pausing to scan the crowded bar for Bryce, hushed whispers floated around her, and a couple of deputies she recognized gave her skeptical looks as she crossed the room.

  As a teenager, boys had steered clear of her because her father was sheriff. At the academy, she’d had to fight harder, be tougher, and prove she could hold her own with her fellow officers as well as the criminals. When she returned from the academy, they assumed she’d survived because of who her daddy was. When she’d made detective, the scrutiny had gotten even worse.

  Working for Crooked Creek’s police department instead of the sheriff’s office in Stony Gap had given her a reprieve. Until the Ghost case.

  Now stares and suspicious looks dogged her everywhere. Bryce looked up with an eyebrow raise, then a frown at the sight of Derrick. All these damn testosterone-laden men were too territorial.

  The guy beside Bryce moved over to flirt with a thirty-something female, and Ellie slid onto the seat.

  “You wanted an update. Here we are.” She didn’t bother to hide her disdain that he was here drinking on the job.

  “You found another victim,” Bryce said.

  She nodded and showed him the text. “It wasn’t Shondra though. She’s still out there.”

  Bryce plucked a French fry from his plate and wolfed it down. “You’re sure it’s the same killer?”

  “Same signature, with the lips sewn shut. Although this time he carved a heart on her chest.”

  Bryce’s eyes darkened, then he tossed back a shot of whiskey. “Any clue who she is?”

  “Not yet,” Ellie said. “Dr. Whitefeather will let us know lab results after the autopsy.” She gritted her teeth as he ordered another drink.

  “I thought you were working, too,” Ellie said, indicating the shot. “He’s going to kill again. And if Shondra is still alive, the next victim could be her.”

  “For your information, my people are still searching for Shondra and locations where this killer might be hiding out.” He arched a brow. “But a man has to eat.” He shot her a sarcastic look. “Or don’t you have to, Ellie?”

  He made her blood boil. “Food is one thing. Whiskey is another.”

  “You’re walking the line here, Detective,” said Bryce, gripping her wrist. “Being insubordinate could be dangerous.”

  “Is that a threat?” Ellie asked, lifting her chin in challenge.

  Bryce’s eyes narrowed. “A warning.”

  Derrick’s expression was lethal as he noticed the sheriff’s hand clenching Ellie’s wrist. He started to speak, but Ellie held up a warning hand and shook her arm away.

  She didn’t want––or need––a man fighting her battles.

  “Did you learn anything from talking to Carrie’s coworkers or the staff at the club where she worked?” Derrick asked, clearing his throat.

  A vein throbbed in Bryce’s neck as he tilted his head toward Derrick. “Bartender said she was a good dancer, liked entertaining the men. Took some lap dances and did some after-hours work but was always discreet.”

  “He give up the names of any of her special clients?” Ellie asked.

  Bryce accepted the second shot and swirled it around in the glass. “No, said she handled her own business and respected her clients’ privacy. I searched her dressing room and car but didn’t find a client list anywhere.” He downed the whiskey. “Although one of the other girls said she was saving up enough money to get out of the business. She planned to go to college and study finance.”

  Ellie rubbed her throbbing head. So Bryce had actually done some background work. That was something, at least.

  “A special guy in her life who inspired this decision?” Derrick asked.

  Bryce shook his head. “Not that she knew of. Said Carrie’s friend Samantha might know, but I’ve called her and she didn’t answer. When she phones back, I’ll go by her place and find out what she knows.”

  “Be sure to ask her if one of her clients is into domination or S & M,” Ellie said.

  “Don’t worry,” Bryce said with a sly smile. “I’ve got it covered.”

  She just bet he did.

  Frustration knotted her shoulders as she turned and left. Three women were already dead, their lives on her head. There had to be some clues in the Weekday Killer’s MO or the victims themselves. What in the hell were they missing?

  Fifty-Three

  River’s Edge

  Cord let himself inside his cabin, the scent of dirt and blood clinging to his skin just as the images of the dead women lingered in his mind and their screams had reverberated through the pines and hemlocks.

  The evil voices from his past had spoken to him all day and night. Evil voices that ordered him to do things he knew were not right. Evil things he’d been taught to do as a child.

  He’d lied to Ellie again. There hadn’t been a call for a hiker in trouble.

  But the sight of the woman’s shocked eyes and painted lips had forced him to leave before Ellie saw who he really was.

  She would figure it out one day. She was smart.

  But he wasn’t ready to share that side of himsel
f with her yet.

  Ripping off his gloves and bloody clothes, he threw them in the wash, added detergent and turned it on. For a second, he stood and watched the machine fill with water, the soapy bubbles building as the crimson stain bled from his clothes, turning the water bright red.

  Another woman would die tomorrow. Somewhere on the trail. The place he now called home.

  With blood and dirt still stained on his body, Cord stepped into the shower and ran the water as hot as he could. The sharp bite of heat blasted him, stinging the scratches on his hands and arms, and he scrubbed his skin until it was raw. Blood and grime swirled around the tile floor, disappearing down the drain, but he couldn’t erase the memory of what he’d done from his brain.

  Or maybe it was the pull of evil inside him that kept it running through his mind.

  Fifty-Four

  Crooked Creek

  Night brought the cloying darkness that cloaked the mountains and felt suffocating to Ellie as she pulled into her drive. On the way home, she’d heard Angelica Gomez’s latest report from the sheriff.

  For a moment the world spun, threatening to paralyze her. Déjà vu struck her and sent her spiraling back to the Ghost case.

  Closing her eyes, she forced deep breaths in to stem the panic, just as Kennedy Sledge had suggested the first time they’d met. She wanted to teach Ellie the power of mind over body, and that she could fight her own weaknesses if she focused.

  Her nails dug into her palms as she practiced counting with each breath, then exhaling slowly, giving her brain time to adapt. But as her breathing steadied, the images of the dead women slipped through the calm. The gaudy makeup, the daffodil petals, and the thorny bramble formed a gruesome picture in her mind that she couldn’t erase.