All the Beautiful Brides (20 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Cal made a mental note to look into Sheriff Buckley and probe Anna about their relationship. If there were secrets behind closed doors, he would find out.
Carol Little’s family needed to be notified of her death, but his contacts told him
Carol had no family. Both her parents had passed.

Hoping to find more information on her computer or in her notes, Cal drove to the inn where she’d been staying and walked up the azalea-lined sidewalk to the front. It was a two-hundred-year-old gray-blue Victorian home with turrets, windows that looked as if shadowy ghosts might be looking out, and swings and rocking chairs on the wraparound porch.

A sign pointed to gardens out back and a walking trail to the river. A statue of the man who’d originally owned and built the inn stood in the center of a garden, the story of the man etched on a marker. According to rumors, his ghost could be seen at dusk and dawn, wandering the property.

Cal stepped inside, impressed by the detailed molding and antique wood flooring, yet the painting of the falls and the prison that had once stood by the grounds looked eerie. That prison had flooded years ago and dozens had died.

The town didn’t commemorate that loss with a memorial, though.

A short, robust woman wearing an apron and a friendly smile swept in and introduced herself as the owner, Cynthia Humphries. “Are you looking for a room?”

He introduced himself. “I’m here about the recent murders.”

The woman shook her head. “It’s awful to have that happening in our town. Do you have a suspect?” she asked.

“We have some theories but aren’t ready to make an arrest.” Dammit, he hated to tell her they were no closer to finding the unsub than they had been after Gwyneth’s death. “Unfortunately, there’s been another murder. We found Carol Little’s body at the falls.”

Cynthia’s eyes widened. “Oh, my God, Carol is dead?”

“I’m afraid so,” Cal said.

Cynthia grabbed the edge of the antique sideboard for support. “This is horrible. She was such a nice lady. A little troubled, but she meant well.”

“What do you mean, ‘troubled’?”

Cynthia shrugged. “She didn’t share much, but one morning over coffee, I asked her about her family, and she said she and her father hadn’t gotten along.”

He wasn’t as interested in her family drama as what was on her computer. “Did she talk about the story she was working on?”

Cynthia smoothed down her apron. “Not really. I mean, she asked about Johnny Pike and the people in town. If everyone thought he was guilty.”

“Did you live here back then?” Cal asked.

“Actually, I did. My husband and I had just moved to town. He was a developer and built those cabins up on the river.”

“How did you think Sheriff Buckley handled the case?”

She looked at him as if that was an odd question. “I thought he did his job,” she said. “All the parents were in a panic. After the first murder, the counselors had their work cut out. Hysterical grieving teenagers and parents didn’t make a very happy town.”

But Buckley had been the hero. Had he set it up that way?

“Did you believe Johnny Pike was guilty?”

She chewed her bottom lip. “I don’t know. His mother was nice and insisted her son wouldn’t hurt a fly. But there was so much evidence. I thought they were going to lynch that boy.”

Had Carol discovered something that might suggest Pike was innocent? Was that the reason she was killed? It might account for the difference in the MO.

It also meant that anyone in town who didn’t want Pike to get that parole could have killed Carol.

Sheriff Buckley especially wouldn’t want the case to be overturned.

Cal considered Mona’s profile of the unsub, that he was looking for a wife. That detail didn’t fit with Buckley.

Yonkers was the one person of interest who did fit.

“I need to see Carol’s room.”

“Of course.” She snatched a ring of room keys, then led him up the stairs to the second floor. When she opened the door, the scent of a woman’s perfume swirled around him.

He half expected to see that the room had been ransacked. That the killer had been here covering his tracks before Cal could search Carol’s belongings.

But the room was neat and orderly, the bed made, a stack of notepads on the desk. He scanned the room for her computer but didn’t see it. Dammit, she must have had it with her.

Maybe it was in her car.

Cynthia hovered in the doorway, looking pale and clutching the doorknob.

“What kind of car did Carol drive?”

“A little red Toyota.”

Which was not outside. So if he found the car, he might find her laptop.

“Did Carol have any visitors while she stayed here?”

“Not that I saw. She left early every day to talk to people in town.”

“Thanks, Cynthia. I’ll lock the room when I leave.”

She pulled herself from her stupor and left him alone. He walked over to look at the notepads, hoping to find something, as he called the deputy. “See if you can find Carol Little’s car. A red Toyota. Her computer might be inside it.”

The deputy agreed, and Cal skimmed Carol’s notes. She’d written the names of the Thorn Ripper’s victims—Tiffany Levinson, Candy Yonkers, and Brittany Burgess.

Johnny Pike’s name was at the top of one column, then she’d listed the evidence the sheriff had gathered against him. Fingerprints, photos of the victims, and a witness, Charlene Linder, who claimed that Pike had attacked her but she’d escaped. Though she’d left town before the trial, her written statement had clinched the case.

He skimmed more notes:

I tried to interview Sheriff Buckley, but he refused. So did his daughter, Anna. She was dating Pike at the time of his arrest and insisted that Pike wasn’t dangerous.

On another page, she’d created a chart with three columns, listing each of the three original victims and their parents’ names.

She’d uncovered the same information Deputy Kimball had about the families of the victims. She’d even circled Doyle Yonkers and written a question mark below his name as if she had her suspicions about him.

Cal texted Agent Hamrick and asked Dane to let him know if he saw Yonkers leave his property.

Beside Sara Levinson’s name, Carol had jotted
THE BOAR’S HEAD
in capital letters.

Cal quickly searched the rest of the room in case she’d hidden notes or a flash drive, but he came up empty.

Frustrated but determined, he headed outside to his Jeep to drive to the Boar’s Head. He punched the number he’d found in Carol’s room for her editor, Wally Gann, and asked to speak to him.

When he told Gann about Carol, the man cursed. “I was afraid she was going to get in trouble one day.”

“Why do you say that?”

“She wasn’t satisfied just covering small stories. She was intrigued with murder. She was relentless and pushed people until she got what she was looking for.”

Except if she’d uncovered something important, she’d taken it to the grave.

Mona stopped in Cocoa’s Café for coffee on the way to her office.

“I’m enjoying your show, Miss Monroe,” Cocoa said. “You got some interesting callers. Course most folks around here are freaked out about the possibility of another serial killer being in town.”

“I know. You’ve lived here a long time,” Mona said. “The teenage girls who died used to come in here, didn’t they?”

Cocoa’s dark skin glistened with perspiration as she set a tray of hot sticky buns on the counter.

Mona couldn’t resist snatching one as Cocoa handed her a steaming mug.

“I don’t mean to speak ill, but they were spoiled rotten and cliquish,” Cocoa said. “Still, they didn’t deserve to be killed and thrown away in the woods like that.”

Mona frowned. “They didn’t let just anyone into their group?”

“No, they were kind of a threesome. I remember a couple of girls who wanted to be in the ‘in crowd,’ but they snubbed them.”

“Do you remember the girls’ names?”

Cocoa wiped the counter with a rag. “One of them was Felicity Hacker. She was pretty but not striking like the others. She used to hang around and try to fit in, but . . . she never quite did.”

Mona’s instincts prickled. “I heard from someone that she got pregnant that year.”

“Yeah.” Cocoa sighed. “Poor thing. Think the baby was stillborn, although no one ever talked about it. Bernice at the hair salon said she thought she gave the kid away. Someone else said they thought she got rid of the baby.”

“Got rid of the baby how?”

Cocoa shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t like to gossip myself.”

Mona frowned. No wonder Felicity hadn’t wanted to talk to her.

“After that, she kept to herself. Owns that plant nursery outside town. Grows the prettiest roses. Her mama taught her to do that.”

Roses? Mona’s mind took a strange leap. If Felicity had been shunned by the girls, she could have killed them and framed Johnny Pike, and jammed the rose stems down their throats to teach them a lesson.

While she had Cocoa talking, though, Mona had to find out more about the students that year. “I’m sure Felicity wasn’t the only girl in Graveyard Falls to get pregnant while she was in school.”

Cocoa hesitated. “Like I said, I don’t like to gossip.”

Mona offered her a tentative smile. “I guess since I’m working with folks in town, I’m just curious about everyone.”

Cocoa sighed. “Well, I did hear that a girl named Charlene got pregnant when she was a junior,” she said. “Folks said her daddy was as mean as a snake, that he locked her up till that kid was born.”

Mona swallowed hard. She hadn’t found Charlene’s name at the county office. Was it possible Charlene was her mother?

“What was her last name?” Mona asked. “Did she have a boy or a girl?”

“I don’t remember her last name, but I think she had a boy.”

Mona’s hopes deflated. Although it might be helpful to talk to Charlene anyway. Perhaps she and Mona’s mother had bonded over their teenage pregnancies. “Where does Charlene live?”

“No idea. People said her daddy was so ashamed of her he moved them up in the mountains far away from anyone in this town. Other rumors spread that he killed Charlene and the baby and buried them in the hills.”

Mona fiddled with her purse strap, uneasy. “What about Kay Marlin?”

Cocoa’s brows rose. “You are curious, girl.” She spoke in a conspiratorial whisper. “Word is that Kay didn’t even know who the daddy was. I think her aunt or some other relative took the baby up north to raise it.”

Mona thanked her and drove to her office, contemplating what she’d learned.

When she arrived at her desk, Anna DuKane was waiting, looking upset, her complexion pasty.

“Come on in, Anna,” Mona said. “Can I get you some coffee or water?”

“Coffee would be good.” Anna rubbed her hands up and down her arms. “I can’t seem to get warmed up.”

Mona gestured for the older woman to get comfortable on the love seat while she went to the corner side table and poured Anna a cup of coffee.

“Sweetener or cream?”

Anna shook her head. “Just black.”

She poured herself a cup as well, stalling, giving Anna time to settle down.

When Mona handed her the mug, Anna took a quick sip, closed her eyes, and sighed as if she’d desperately needed the caffeine, then looked into her cup as if she were a million miles away.

“Tell me what happened,” Mona said.

“I found Carol Little dead at Graveyard Falls.”

Mona bit back her surprise “You went to the falls?”

Anna traced a finger along the rim of her cup. “Yes. I know it sounds crazy, but I . . . had to see the place again.”

“Did you know Ms. Little?” Mona asked.

A flicker of guilt in her eyes. “No, not really,” Anna said a little too quickly. “But she came to my father’s house for an interview. I didn’t want to rehash the past, so I refused to let her in.”

Anna jiggled her leg nervously, and Mona reached out and laid a hand on her knee. “Why didn’t you want to talk to her?”

“Because I was dating Johnny Pike back then. Everyone thought I knew he was a killer!” Anna cried. “They even thought I covered up for him.”

Mona couldn’t help but wonder the same thing.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Cal was still contemplating Carol’s death as he entered the Boar’s Head.

The decor consisted of animals that had been preserved by a taxidermist, the faces and eyes so real that he felt like they were following him as he crossed to the bar.

It was obviously a common decorating scheme in this part of Tennessee.

Rustic wood floors, booths, battered wood tables, and cane-back chairs added to the primitive country look. A few people were eating lunch, and three men in jeans and overalls drank beer at the bar.

He spotted a waitress with reddish-brown hair leaving one of the tables, carrying a tray of dirty dishes and walking toward a swinging door that led to the kitchen. He slid onto a barstool near the door.

The bartender, a young guy in his twenties with a sleeve of tattoos, slapped a napkin down in front of Cal. “What do you want?”

He wanted a beer but asked for coffee instead. Too much work to do. When the guy returned with the mug, he thanked him, then flashed his ID. “I’m investigating the murder of two women whose bodies were found at Graveyard Falls.” He showed him pictures of Gwyneth and Constance. “Did you see either of them in here?”

“No.” He gestured toward a picture of three fishermen showing off a huge catfish. “We mostly get hunters and fishermen.”

A heavyset man in jeans and a wife-beater T-shirt pushed through the swinging door from the kitchen, sweat pouring down his ruddy neck. When he saw Cal, his eyes flickered with disdain.

A second later, he came over to Cal. “I’m the owner, Burrell Fergis. Why you bothering my people?”

“Because two women were murdered and left at Graveyard Falls, and now the reporter, Carol Little, who wrote about the story was found dead there as well.”

Fergis’s jaw tensed.

“I think Carol came to this bar to talk to Sara Levinson.” Cal said.

Fergis looked away, wiping his forehead with the back of his arm.

“Shit. I was afraid something happened to that lady.”

“Why do you say that?”

“That little Toyota she was driving. It was still in the parking lot when I got here this morning.”

He hadn’t seen it. “Where?”

“In the back lot,” Fergis said.

Cal’s pulse jumped. “Did you talk to Ms. Little?”

“No. She wanted to speak to Sara. Got her all tore up.”

“What do you mean?”

“She asked all kinds of questions about Sara’s daughter and that Pike boy.”

He waved Sara over to join them.

Sara approached, her brows narrowed with worry. “What’s going on?”

“They found that reporter dead,” Fergis said.

Sara’s eyes widened. “My God.”

“What exactly did she say to you when you spoke?” Cal asked.

Sara twisted the rag tied at her waist. “She asked about my daughter.” Her eyes grew moist and she swiped at them. “Even after all this time, I can’t bear to talk about losing her. It was just so . . . senseless.”

Compassion filled Cal. He couldn’t imagine losing a child, especially in such a violent manner.

“What did you tell her?” he asked.

“There wasn’t much to tell,” Sara said. “The boy who killed my Tiffany was arrested and has been locked up for years.”

Cal frowned. So Carol hadn’t learned anything new from Sara? “You believe the right man went to jail?”

Sara’s eyes flickered with turmoil. “At first I didn’t. Tiffany loved that boy and had her heart set on going to the prom with him. But he used that against all the girls and lured them to the falls with a rose.” She wiped at her eyes. “When the sheriff found all that evidence, I was shocked. But it all made sense then, that he did it.”

Cal stood. “Thanks. I need to see Ms. Little’s car.” Maybe he’d find her computer and whatever she’d stumbled onto that had gotten her killed.

Anna couldn’t bear to look at Mona. She knew the questions in her eyes would be there. The same questions that had turned into bitter accusations when she’d lived in Graveyard Falls.

The questions her father had yelled at her the night before he’d arrested Johnny.

Although Johnny’s lawyer had argued that not finding the jewelry meant Johnny was innocent, it hadn’t been enough. Johnny had folded and accepted the plea.

“Anna, you know whatever you tell me is confidential,” Mona said. “You might feel better if you talked about it. Did you know Johnny killed those girls?”

She shook her head emphatically. “No. I didn’t believe it.” At least she didn’t want to believe it.

“But your father was the sheriff?”

“Yes, he hated Johnny because I was dating him. He told me that another girl said Johnny attacked her, and that she escaped.”

Mona kept her face calm, a fact that was beginning to annoy Anna because she sensed Mona wanted to push her harder, wanted her to confess her deepest, darkest secrets.

There were some things she still never talked about. Things she never
would
share with anyone.

Pain so deep that she felt as if a knife was cutting her open from the inside out, splitting her in two.

“Let’s talk more about Johnny. Did you sense he was dangerous?”

She’d been asked this a thousand times. “No. When they first questioned him, I was shocked because Johnny seemed like the kindest, most gentle boy in the world,” she said and realized she still meant it. “After they arrested him, I replayed moments in my head over and over, and nothing Johnny ever did or said made me think he’d kill anyone.”

“He didn’t have a temper?” Mona asked.

Anna shook her head. “The only time I saw him get mad was when one of the wrestlers bullied a girl with Down syndrome. Johnny stuck up for her, and got in a fight with him.”

Mona looked surprised. “That was nice of him.”

Anna smiled sadly. “Before he hit a growth spurt in high school, he was small and got picked on. So he couldn’t stand to see anyone else suffer.” She couldn’t help but wonder how much he’d suffered in the state pen.

“Have you visited him in prison?” Mona asked.

Anna cut her eyes away, the guilt and pain pressing on her chest so unbearable she could barely breathe. How could she visit him when she felt as if she’d abandoned him?

When she’d kept secrets from him. A secret nobody but her father knew . . .

A secret that had to stay buried to protect her daughter.

Cal studied Sara. “Is there anything else you can tell me? Before Carol left, was she talking to anyone?”

Sara wrinkled her nose, her hands still twisting the rag. “Just Billy Linder. But they didn’t talk long, and she jumped up and left. I thought she had a phone call or something.”

Cal drummed his fingers on the bar. “Did you hear what they were talking about?”

“Not really.”

“Tell me about this guy Billy.”

“There’s something off about him,” Sara said. “I don’t know if something happened to him when he was little, but he’s odd. Sort of slow. He and his mother live way up in the mountains and don’t socialize much.” She gestured at the coyote on the wall above the jukebox. “In fact, he’s the taxidermist who did all the animals in here for Burrell.”

Cal startled at the mention of
taxidermist
. “You mean Doyle Yonkers didn’t do all these?”

“No. It was Billy.” She made a face. “Burrell likes them, but I think they’re creepy.”

“Do you think Billy is dangerous?”

“I can’t say for sure. He likes hunting, that’s all I know.”

That wasn’t much—a lot of men living around these mountains were hunters.

“I always thought his mama was strange too,” Sara said. “She hovered over him like he was a baby even though he’s probably in his twenties.”

“So the mother is about your age?”

Sara nodded. “Her name’s Charlene.”

Alarm bells clanged in Cal’s head. “The Charlene who claimed Pike attacked her?”

“Yeah. She dropped out of high school after that. I heard she got knocked up and her daddy was a mean drunk and nearly beat her to death when he found out she was pregnant. Maybe that’s what’s wrong with Billy. He has brain damage from that beating.”

If he had brain damage, he probably wasn’t smart enough to orchestrate a crime. Still, if he was the last person seen talking to Carol, Cal needed to talk to him.

He punched Peyton’s number and asked her to find Billy Linder’s address while he searched Carol’s car.

Anna was still keeping something from her, but Mona couldn’t push her any more. The poor woman had obviously suffered guilt for years over her relationship with Johnny Pike and the teenagers’ deaths.

Whether it was justified or not was the question.

“Anna, even if you suspected your boyfriend of murder and didn’t come forward, you were young and in love. It’s time you forgive yourself.”

“I want to,” she said. “But it’s hard.”

Mona patted her hand gently. “Is there another reason you feel guilty? Did you suspect someone else of the murders? Maybe another teenage friend?”

“No, it wasn’t like that.”

“What about your father? Did he have any other suspects?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Anna stood, her agitation mounting. “Thank you for listening, Ms. Monroe, but I have to go.”

She practically sprinted out the door, leaving an air of secrecy and fear behind her.

What was Anna afraid of?

Mona stewed over the possibilities while she saw her next few clients.

She finished her paperwork, then realized it was time for her radio show, so she grabbed her coat and gloves and rushed outside to her car. Ten minutes later, she hurried into the radio station.

Chance looked different tonight, she thought, as she took her place at the mic. A scowl pulled at his face, and he was on the phone, his voice terse. When he saw her, he averted his eyes and covered the phone with his hand so she couldn’t hear his conversation.

He quickly hung up, then started the segment and patched the first caller through.

The first five callers wanted to discuss the murders in town. The women were panicked, the men angry that their loved ones were in danger.

Mona had no answers, but she tried to reassure them that the police were doing everything they could to catch the Bride Killer.

“Why would the killer dress the girls in wedding gowns?” an elderly woman named Henrietta said. “That’s just sick.”

“I don’t want to speculate on air.” Mona pressed two fingers to her temple. A headache was beginning to pulse, her nerves fraying. She understood the panic.

“It’s just like before,” the next caller commented. “All the young women in town afraid to go outside. Looking at everyone they meet, even the ones they know, like they’re the killer.”

No wonder Anna had left Graveyard Falls years ago. It was hard to escape the gossip and accusing eyes in a town where everyone knew your business.

When she answered the next call, there was silence for a moment. Then a heavy breath.

“Hello, this is Mona, what’s on your mind tonight?”

“You were supposed to help me, but you don’t help anyone. Tell them to stop saying bad things about me.”

Mona looked up at Chance to see if he was paying attention, and his eyes darkened with worry. She tried to comfort herself with the fact that the call was being traced.

She just needed to keep the man on the line. And maybe figure out if he was Doyle William Yonkers.