Scene of the Crime: Mystic Lake Read online

  Amberly hated the way her thoughts instantly shot to Cole Caldwell. At that moment, Max came into the kitchen. “Hey, Lex, I’ve got to go. I need to spend a little time with the most important man in my life.”

  “Tell Max I said hi, and good luck on the case.”

  “Thanks, I think we’re going to need all the luck we can get.”

  After hanging up with Lexie, Amberly and Max sat at the table and played three games of Go Fish. Amberly won one and Max won the other two, and then it was bedtime for Max.

  As usual, as she sat on the edge of Max’s bed and touched the charm that hung around his neck, her heart welled up with a love that nearly brought tears to her eyes.

  “May the warm winds of heaven blow softly upon your house. May the Great Spirit bless all who enter here. May your moccasins make happy tracks in many snows, and may the rainbow always touch your shoulder.” The old Cherokee blessing fell from her lips as she stroked several strands of his dark hair away from his forehead.

  “I like that prayer,” he murmured sleepily.

  “I do, too.” She leaned forward and kissed his forehead and then stood. “And I hope your moccasins run fast tomorrow during field day.”

  Max smiled, his eyes closing to what she knew would be happy dreams.

  Amberly left his bedroom and headed for the master bathroom off her bedroom. She ran a tub full of hot, scented water, twisted her thick hair into a messy topknot and then stripped off the sundress and eased into the tub.

  The water enveloped her in the sweet aroma of orchids, and the heat eased each and every muscle in her body. She tried to empty her mind, but the images of the crime-scene photos kept sliding back into her consciousness.

  Four victims. Three potential suspects. Were they on the right track with Jeff Maynard, Jimmy Tanner and Raymond Ross? Or were they spinning their wheels chasing three lowlifes whose biggest crimes were drinking too much and sleeping around?

  Certainly the evidence pointed that all three men hated Gretchen Johnson and might have had something to do with her death. Jimmy Tanner had slept with Barbara Tillman and might have had reason to get rid of her. But Mary had no real connection to any of the men.

  She sank lower in the water and closed her eyes, trying to find an escape from everything, but the victims refused to leave her alone. Gretchen Johnson, found next to the pizza parlor. Mary Mathis, her body on display in front of the library. Barbara Tillman had appeared to rest peacefully in the city park in the shade of a big oak tree. And finally the latest, Casey Richards, shoved in between two trash bins in the back of an alleyway.

  Leaning forward, she grabbed a soapy sponge and ran it across the top of her shoulders, her brain still clicking and whirling despite her tiredness.

  As she washed off, the crime-scene photos flashed in her head, a slide show of horror that held her by the throat, making it nearly impossible to enjoy the luxury of her bath.

  By the time she was out of the tub and clad in her nightshirt, she was certain that Casey Richards was an anomaly…a copycat murder.

  She had two choices, wait until morning to let Cole know her thoughts or call him now to give him her theory. She decided it was important enough to warrant a phone call. And she told herself it had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that she wouldn’t mind hearing the sound of his deep voice right now.

  Back in the kitchen, she picked up her cell phone from the table and dialed his number. A glance at the clock let her know it was almost ten. She hoped he hadn’t already gone to bed. They’d been putting in some killer hours the past couple of days.

  He answered on the second ring. “Amberly? Is everything all right?”

  She liked the sound of her unusual name falling from his lips. “Everything is fine,” she quickly assured him, then added, “Well, not completely fine. Maybe I’m overthinking things, but I don’t think Casey was killed by our man.”

  He remained silent and she knew he was waiting for her to continue to explain. “Think about it. The others were laid out in plain sight, posed in almost peaceful positions so they would be found immediately. He wanted his work on display, to be admired. But Casey was shoved between two trash bins in the back of an alley as if he didn’t want her found too soon. Why the sudden difference?”

  “A copycat.” His tone was flat. “I don’t know why we didn’t see it immediately.”

  “Because we weren’t looking for it. Because we’d been functioning on autopilot by the time Casey’s body was found,” she replied.

  “I talked to her boyfriend, Terry Banks. He seemed really broken up about her death, but I need to look at him a little more closely now. I didn’t initially go hard on him because I thought Casey was another random victim of our killer.”

  She heard the frustration in his voice, could imagine the tense lines that radiated down the sides of his handsome face, across his broad forehead.

  Immediately, her desire was to erase those stress lines, even though she couldn’t see them in person. “So, we investigate Casey’s death as a separate murder and continue to push forward on the bigger investigation.”

  “Of course, you’re right,” he agreed. “You know what the morning headline was on our little local throw paper? Dream Catcher Killer Strikes Again, and it details Casey’s murder.” This time his voice was filled with disgust.

  “But that could work in your favor in solving Casey’s murder. Whoever killed her will feel safe.”

  “You’re right again,” he agreed, his voice a bit more relaxed than it had been moments before. “You should be in bed. We’ve probably got another long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

  “I could say the same for you,” she replied and tried to force the vision of the two of them in bed together out of her head.

  “Yeah, I’m heading there right now.”

  “Then I’ll see you in the morning around nine,” she replied. She hung up but remained seated at the table with her cell phone still in her hand, as if she was reluctant to break the momentary contact she’d had with him.

  With a sigh, she set the cell phone on the table, feeling like a ridiculous teenager who was about to spy on her boyfriend’s house in the hopes of catching just a glimpse of him.

  What on earth was going on with her when it came to Cole Caldwell? She’d never before felt the ball of tension that burned inside her stomach when talking to the man. She’d never experienced a teenage crush, and that’s what she felt she had going on with the handsome sheriff. But she wasn’t a teenager. She was thirty years old, and her only relationship with Cole Caldwell should be as a helpmate to get a killer off the streets.

  She went to bed, but it took her a long time to fall asleep as she played and replayed the kiss she’d shared with Cole, as she remembered that moment in his guest bedroom when he’d awakened her from her nightmare and sexual tension had crackled in the air between them.

  It was nothing more than a crush, and crushes passed. She fell asleep with that comforting thought in mind. She awakened the next morning just after dawn, feeling well rested and ready to take on a new day.

  She made coffee, sucked down her first cup of the day and then decided to make pancakes for breakfast for her and Max. She got out the griddle, made the batter and then drank a second cup of coffee as she watched the sunrise.

  As she stood at the window, she once again found her thoughts going back to the murders. Cole had instructed one of his deputies to run a search to see if dream catchers had been noted at any other murders in the general area over the past year. They’d also researched everything they could find about dream catchers in Indian culture, but had come up with no reason that the dream catchers might have been left at the murder scenes.

  Whatever meaning the dream catchers had to the killer remained a mystery, but somehow, Amberly felt if they could solve that puzzle, it would go a long way in finding the killer. She wasn’t sure she believed that the killer hung them in order to keep the dead from having nightmares. There had to be anothe
r reason.

  At quarter to seven, she went into Max’s bedroom to wake him. He was one of those kids who awoke instantly and always with a smile on his face. There was never any prodding or poking to get him up; he bounded out of bed as if in anticipation of a great adventure.

  “Pancakes will be ready by the time you’re dressed,” she said.

  “Chocolate chip?” he asked eagerly.

  She smiled. “I think we can arrange a sprinkling of chips on each pancake,” she agreed.

  “Awesome,” Max exclaimed as he headed to the hall bathroom.

  By seven-fifteen, they were seated at the table sharing breakfast, and Max told her everything that was going to happen at school that day and his hopes to bring home at least half a dozen ribbons for activities during field day.

  “If you wind up going to your dad’s after school today, I’ll call and you can give me the final medal total.”

  “Expect to be amazed,” Max said, a shiny string of syrup running down his mouth.

  Amberly laughed and handed him a napkin. “Finish up, brush your teeth and then grab your backpack. We’ve got to hit the road in ten minutes.”

  As Max disappeared into the bathroom once again, Amberly quickly cleared the breakfast mess and then gathered her keys and purse to wait by the door. Within minutes, Max had joined her, and together they walked out into the morning sunshine.

  “Hey, Ed,” she greeted her neighbor, who was in the process of digging up a dead shrub at the corner of his house. “You’re up and at it early this morning.”

  “Heard it was supposed to get hot later today, and I’ve been meaning to get this eyesore out of here for the last year. Figured there was no better time than this minute. I want it gone before winter sets in.” He leaned on the handle of the shovel and smiled at Max. “Gonna knock them all dead today at field day, sport?”

  “Definitely. I’ve got on my fastest tennis shoes and my lucky necklace.” He grabbed the amulet that hung around his neck. “Nobody stands a chance against me!”

  “You’ll be at your dad’s after school today?” Ed asked.

  Max exchanged a glance with his mother. “Probably. Mom’s working a big case.”

  “Then I’ll probably see you over there. I’m determined to beat your dad at at least two games of chess in a row,” Ed said.

  “Okay, see ya later,” Max said as he ran to the car.

  “You are John are playing chess a lot in the evenings,” Amberly said to Ed.

  “He’s a lonely man, Amberly.”

  “I know. I’ve told him to move on, to find some nice woman who he can build something with,” Amberly said in frustration.

  Ed nodded. “I’ve told him the same thing, only I told him to make her a blonde this time.”

  Amberly laughed. “I’ve got to get out of here. See you later, Ed.”

  As he waved a hand and then went back to digging with the shovel, she hurried toward her car in the driveway. She had just pulled out of her driveway when she noticed it, and her blood ran icy cold in her veins.

  The dream catcher hung from her mailbox, and attached below it was a photo of her. She hit the brakes and put the car in Park, afraid to move, fear screaming through her so loud it took her several minutes to hear Max in the seat next to her.

  “Mom, what’s wrong? Aren’t we going to school?”

  He knew where she lived. He or they had left this as a warning that she was vulnerable, and that made Max vulnerable. Max… She had to get Max out of here. She dug her cell phone out of her purse and called John.

  She didn’t want to leave her position in front of the mailbox, was somehow afraid that if she left for even a moment, then while she was gone, this new evidence would magically disappear.

  John agreed to meet her at her house and get Max to school. The next call she made was to Cole. He answered on the first ring. “I have a problem,” she said.

  “What kind of problem?”

  “I was just getting ready to drive Max to school and I saw a dream catcher and my photo hanging on my mailbox,” she said.

  There was a long moment of stunned silence. “Don’t touch anything and don’t call the local cops. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. This is part of our ongoing investigation. I don’t want anyone else involved.”

  Before she could say anything else, he clicked off. By that time, John had arrived. It took only a minute to transfer Max from her car to his, and then he roared off, promising to be back after he’d dropped Max at school.

  Ed watched the proceedings but kept his own counsel, continuing to dig at the shrub while Amberly focused her attention back on the dream catcher and photo.

  The picture was a profile photo from one of the social networks she occasionally visited, and the dream catcher, the cheap kind that had been found at all of the crime scenes in Mystic Lake.

  Was this the work of one of the men she’d met in the bar Friday night? The same night she’d thought somebody had been outside of her house?

  Was this a reminder to her that they could get to her whenever they wanted, or was this a promise that she was intended to be the next victim?

  Chapter Seven

  Cole pressed his foot on the gas pedal, the strobes on the top of his car shooting out brilliant cherry lights in all directions as the piercing siren blared for everyone on the road to get out of his way.

  The killer knew where Amberly lived. The words reverberated around and around in his head as his stomach muscles twisted with raw anxiety. He knew where she lived and he’d left her a calling card.

  How had this happened? How had he allowed this to happen? He felt the same impotent rage that he’d felt when Emily had been kidnapped and he’d known he’d been the one who had invited danger into her life.

  She’d always told him that she knew what she’d signed up for when she’d married a cop, but that hadn’t eased his sense of guilt when she’d been killed.

  Was it possible that the same copycat who had killed Casey Richards was just having fun with Amberly? Playing some kind of a sick game?

  Prank, or very real, dangerous threat? He couldn’t take the risk of finding out what the truth was; if he guessed wrong it was Amberly’s very life that hung in the balance.

  He hadn’t expected this. None of the other victims had been forewarned. If it was the killer, then he was acting out of character and that scared Cole half to death. There was no way to second-guess a killer who changed the rules in the middle of a game.

  Traffic fell to the sides of the highway, allowing him to zoom ahead unimpeded. There were definitely benefits to driving a patrol car blazing and screaming through the streets.

  Amberly had thought somebody had been outside of her house Friday night after she’d left Mystic Lake. She’d thought it might have been one of the three men from Bledsoe’s. Was one of them the killer? Had he followed her home? Had she led him right to the very place that should be her safe haven?

  The GPS system in his vehicle gave him the directions straight to her address, and he couldn’t get there fast enough. He felt a little bit like he had when he’d rushed to the scene where Emily had been being held by Jeb Wilson, a man who had killed his family and whom Cole had been hunting.

  Timing was everything. What if the killer was still there on the scene? Hiding out? Just waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike?

  One thing was clear. Amberly and her son were no longer safe in their own home. He exited off the highway and onto a main thoroughfare that would lead him to her neighborhood.

  He didn’t want the Kansas City law enforcement involved in this, although he knew that he might be stepping on toes. This was his investigation, and in truth, leaving a dream catcher and a picture on a mailbox wasn’t a crime—unless it was tied into what was happening in his small town.

  He didn’t want the mess of interacting with another police department. It wasn’t that he was selfish or arrogant—he just knew the kind of hoops and red tape that would come with involving a
nyone else. He’d been there, done that, and with dreadful results.

  A left turn off the main road led him into a nice neighborhood with well-kept homes and lawns. He spied Amberly’s car parked in front of an attractive brick ranch house.

  She was out of her car, talking to a man who apparently was the next-door neighbor. Cole pulled up behind her car and got out, grateful to see that she was okay.

  “That didn’t take long,” she said as he approached where she and the other man stood in the center of the front yard.

  “It’s amazing how fast you can move with a siren and a light on your car.” He looked at her neighbor. “Sheriff Cole Caldwell,” he said as he held out his hand.

  “Ed Gershner.” He gave Cole’s hand a firm shake. The man had short, dark hair with gray sprinkled here and there. He looked like a man who spent a lot of time outdoors, his long face and arms bronzed by the sun. The only distinctive thing Cole noticed was a large mole on his collarbone that his half-unbuttoned short-sleeved shirt displayed.

  “I was just telling Amberly here that I didn’t see or hear anything unusual last night, but I’m an early-to-bed kind of man, and I sleep pretty hard.”

  “Ed came out this morning just after seven to start some yard work. He didn’t pay any attention to my mailbox, so we can assume the things were placed there sometime during the night,” Amberly said.

  Cole walked over to the mailbox to have a closer look. His gut burned with an icy fire as he saw the photo of Amberly connected to the dream catcher with a piece of ordinary string.

  He looked back at her. “Have you checked the house thoroughly to make sure none of the windows or doors or anything else have been tampered with?”

  He hated the way her eyes darkened and sparked with a new fear. She obviously hadn’t thought of any other safety issues or potential invasions into her privacy.

  “Come on, let’s take a walk around the house and check things out,” he said to Amberly. “Nice to meet you, Ed. I may have some more questions for you later.”

  “I’ll be here,” Ed replied as he ambled toward his garage.