All the Beautiful Brides (23 page)

The medical examiner hunkered down to examine Chance, although Cal knew what the autopsy would reveal. Still, they had to go by the book.

He watched the ambulance drive away with Mona, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He’d figured Mona would find out about Brent’s deception, but he hadn’t wanted it to be this way.

But they had found the Bride Killer. That was the good news.

Doubt niggled at the back of his mind, though. He had to make sure, had to find the evidence and process it. He hadn’t seen any roses or garters at Chance’s.

He also needed to find that jewelry . . .

That was one key piece of evidence missing from the Thorn Ripper case. It was also important to the Bride Killer . . .

“We’ll take him to the morgue. Does he have family?” Dr. Wheeland asked.

Cal nodded grimly. “A sister and mother. I’ll make the notification.” Then he’d have a team search and process Chance’s cabin.

Deputy Kimball arrived, and Cal asked him to supervise the crime scene. He left Wheeland to take care of transporting the body, then drove back to the man’s cabin. Sylvia met him at the front door, her face lined with worry and fear.

“I’m sorry,” Cal said quietly. “I . . . I had to shoot him . . . He was strangling Mona Monroe, he wouldn’t let go.”

“Oh, God, no . . .”

Cal caught her around the waist and helped her back inside, then ushered her to a chair.

“I don’t understand,” she wailed. “I never wanted any of this . . .”

When he’d first suspected that Brent was unfaithful, he’d assumed the other woman was someone who had seduced Brent. But Sylvia appeared to be a nice woman. And she had a son.

Except she had helped Chance trash Mona’s house.

Still, she’d been as much a victim as Mona.

Self-loathing assaulted Cal. Why the hell had he kept Brent’s dirty little secrets?

Mona had deserved better. And he intended to tell her that as soon as he could.

“I called a crime team to search the cabin,” Cal said.

Sylvia made a strangled sound. “I still can’t believe he killed those women.”

Cal gritted his teeth. “He killed Brent, too, Sylvia. Did you know that?”

Sylvia dropped her face into her hands on another sob. “What? No!”

“He blamed Mona for your son not having a father. But he’s the one who stole the baby’s father from him.”

Mona tolerated the poking and prodding of the nurses and doctor, all the time insisting she was fine. She just wanted to go home.

Thankfully one of them had given her scrubs to change into, but she knew Cal would want the wedding gown for evidence, so she had them bag it to give to him.

“You should stay overnight for observation,” the young doctor told her. “And we can arrange for you to speak to a counselor.”

Mona bit back a laugh. “I am a counselor.” Although she knew that fact didn’t preclude her from needing help herself. She had been kidnapped and nearly strangled to death. That was traumatic.

But even worse was learning Brent had lied to her, had been married to another woman, and that he had a son.

She closed her eyes, battling more tears. If she fell apart, the doctors would never let her go home.

“Please, I’ll rest better in my own house,” Mona said, although the memory of the intruder haunted her. Now she understood the shredded and torn photographs. Chance had blamed her for hurting his sister.

The nurse asked her to sign release papers, and she called a cab for a ride home. She certainly didn’t want to call Cal.

The driver didn’t ask questions, just looked at her with sympathy and drove in silence. Snowflakes fluttered down, adding to the blanket of white on the ground.

When they reached her house, she ran inside for money, then paid the driver, and hurried back up the steps.

The scent of Chance’s hands on her made her stomach roil. She climbed into the shower, leaned her head back, and let the hot water sluice over her. Then the tears began to fall.

Deep, agonizing sobs racked her body, but she didn’t fight them. She needed to purge her emotions so she could move on.

Because she would move on. There was no way she’d let Brent’s lies destroy her.

Except it wasn’t Brent’s face that taunted her. Or the memory of his loving hands or body that made her double over with grief.

It was Cal’s.

She was in love with him. Maybe she always had been. Maybe Brent had even known that all along.

But Cal had lied to her about Brent, had known that he was unfaithful.

He couldn’t have done that if he cared about her.

She scrubbed her face and finally dried her tears. She wouldn’t waste another tear over either man.

As soon as she stepped from the shower and dragged on her robe, the doorbell dinged. She had a bad feeling she knew who it was.

Gathering her courage, she dragged a comb through her damp hair, then tightened the belt on her robe and headed down the steps.

A knock sounded, then Cal’s deep voice. “Mona, it’s Cal. Let me in.”

She couldn’t look at him tonight. Not after all that had happened. Not when she still wanted him.

“Go away, Cal,” she said through the door. “I don’t want to see you right now.”

Silence, thick and tense, stretched for a full minute, then Cal said, “Please, Mona—”

“I said go away.” She flipped off the downstairs light and hurried back up the steps. When she reached her bedroom, she slammed the door and crawled into bed, pulling up the covers and burying her head in her pillow.

Josie stared at the picture of Johnny Pike in her mother’s yearbook, studying his features. He had been a handsome young man, popular, and the star football player.

And her mother had been in love with him.

That much she’d learned from the diary. Her mother hadn’t done a great job of hiding it, so she dug it out from its recent spot under the mattress, knowing her mother would be furious. But she’d come this far and she had to know everything.

Her pulse pounded as she quickly skimmed the pages.

Johnny Pike had been arrested as the Thorn Ripper and had been given a life sentence in prison.

She then flipped through several more pages, shocked at the contents. Her mother had . . . been pregnant.

With Johnny Pike’s baby.

Josie’s breath caught and she did the math. Thirty years ago—Josie was twenty-nine . . . Was it possible she was Johnny Pike’s daughter?

Had her mother lied to her about her father all these years? Invented a story about some man she’d met who’d died in the service because her father was a serial killer?

The door swung open, and Josie startled. Her mother stood in the doorway, her eyes wide, her face red with anger. “I told you not to read that. It’s private.”

“You lied to me,” Josie said, her own anger spiraling. “All these years.” She swung the yearbook around and stabbed a finger at Johnny Pike’s picture. “You were in love with him, and you were pregnant. But he went to jail for murder, so you made up a story—”

“I told you not to screw around with that boy!” Josie’s grandfather stumbled in, his look of confusion mingling with rage.

Anna gave her father a harsh look. “Daddy, that was a long time ago.”

“You little whore. You got knocked up. I told you he was good for nothing.” He swung a finger at Josie. “I told you to get rid of that kid, too. You should have listened.”

Josie gasped, the truth dawning.

Her grandfather had wanted her mother to get rid of her because the Thorn Ripper was her father.

Her mother tried to take her father’s arm, but he jerked back and glared at her. “You little liar. You were covering for a killer.”

“Daddy, stop!” Anna shouted. “Johnny said he didn’t kill those girls.”

“But he did,” her grandfather hissed. “And I locked him up.”

Josie’s eyes blurred with tears. Now she understood the chasm between her mother and grandfather. He’d arrested her mother’s lover for murder.

Fighting a sob, she ran past both of them, desperate to get away.

He saw the girl Josie again. She looked so sad as she entered the church.

She must be lonely, too. Maybe she needed a friend just like him.

Mama had been getting sicker every day. Last night when he’d curled up beside her, she’d been so cold and still. And her bones were sticking through her skin.

He ducked into the church behind Josie and watched as she shook snow from her beautiful hair with her fingers. The long strands made him want to tangle his hands through it.

Damn that Carol Little for writing about him like he was a monster.

He was somebody. He had skills. He wanted a family, and by God, he was going to get one.

Mama would be proud. And she would like Josie. Josie was a church girl.

He’d take her back to Mama tonight and start her lessons on how to be a proper wife.

He wondered what she’d look like pregnant, her belly round with his baby.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Cal leaned against Mona’s door, his chest aching.

Mona hated him.

He could hardly blame her. He’d kept secrets from her. Had covered for Brent’s deception.

And he’d never told her how he felt about her.

He inhaled a deep breath, disgusted with himself. He had owed Brent his life.

But Brent had taken advantage of his loyalty, and he’d taken advantage of Mona.

Cal should have stood up to his friend, should have fought for Mona. Should have confessed that he loved her.

But if he told her now, she’d never believe him.

Maybe if he gave her time, she’d listen to him. Forgive him.

Yeah, fat chance of that.

Still, there was nothing he could do tonight. And he still had details to follow up on to close this case.

Then he could leave Graveyard Falls.

Except he didn’t want to leave. Not without Mona.

A weariness crept over him as he walked back to the Jeep, but he forced his feelings to the back burner as he remembered he still needed to search Carol’s computer.

He stopped by the diner and ordered a plate of food to go, then drove back to his cabin and carried the food and laptop inside.

Peyton had texted with several suggestions for the reporter’s password, one of which had worked. A cold beer helped take the edge off his nerves, and he ate the chicken fried steak as he searched Carol’s files.

One entry summarized her conversation with Deputy Kimball where she’d learned about the victims being dressed in wedding gowns. Another folder contained notes on the original Thorn Ripper murders. She had obtained a copy of the file of the investigation led by the former Sheriff Buckley.

Buckley had been convinced that Johnny Pike was a cold-blooded killer.

His daughter had also been dating the young man.

Nothing new.

Cal frowned as he skimmed the details about the evidence against Pike. Photos of each of the girls after they’d been killed were discovered in a shoebox beneath his bed.

But the jewelry he’d taken had never been found.

Carol had written a question mark by Pike’s name as if she suspected he might not have been guilty.

Earlier, Cal had questioned the sheriff’s possible involvement . . .

And Agent Hamrick was still watching Yonkers.

He glanced at the names of the other boys who’d been interviewed in the case. Two seniors, but they had alibis for the time of the murders. Females who’d been questioned included the mothers of the three victims, other classmates, and a girl named Charlene Linder.

Linder? Where had he heard that name before?

He rubbed his temple, then it hit him. Billy Linder was the name of the taxidermist who’d preserved the animals for the Boar’s Head.

He searched further but found no other notes on the investigation, so Carol must have just started asking questions.

His phone buzzed, and he stabbed the Connect button.

“Agent Coulter.”

“Cal, it’s Peyton. I examined that wedding gown that Ms. Monroe was forced to wear. It was store bought, not homemade like the others.”

Cal’s detective instincts snapped to alert. “You’re sure?”

“Absolutely. There’s a label inside. It’s a designer imitation. I checked around, and it was purchased from a bridal store.”

“He didn’t make any other purchases?”

“No. And the CSI team didn’t find any garters or other dresses in his house.” She hesitated. “There’s more. The white van that deputy found—it belonged to Dyer.”

So he had tried to run them off the road.

But he’d used his bare hands to try and strangle Mona, not a garter. Although he had had a rose.

“The day he bought this dress was the same day the second victim died,” Peyton continued. “I spoke with a hotel clerk who confirms he spent the night in Knoxville that evening. So he couldn’t have killed Constance Gilroy.”

Cal cursed. Dyer had taken photos from the Internet for his wall and studied them so he could replicate the crime scene, and forced Mona into that wedding dress to throw off the cops. To make them believe that the Bride Killer had murdered her so no one would suspect him.

If Chance Dyer wasn’t the Bride Killer, that meant the bastard was still out there.

Unable to sleep for thinking about Cal, Mona went to her dresser and picked up the baby bootie charm.

Cal might have found the Bride Killer, but she still needed answers about her past.

She’d studied human behavior and counseling enough to know she had trust issues because her adopted parents hadn’t told her the truth, and she hadn’t learned it until they were gone. And now Brent and Cal had both lied to her.

Her phone buzzed, and she glanced at the caller ID. Cal.

Her chest tightened. Part of her wanted to answer it. But what could he say that would possibly justify his lies?

If you didn’t have trust, you had nothing.

The phone rolled over to voice mail and she listened. “Mona, I know you don’t want to talk to me, but please listen. Chance was not the Bride Killer. I have reason to believe the killer’s still at large, so be careful.” A hesitation. “I’m sorry,” he said, this time his voice gruffer than normal. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Please call me. We need to talk.”

Mona squeezed her eyes shut to stem more tears, his words echoing in her head. Chance wasn’t the Bride Killer.

Did his sister, Sylvia, know that?

She remembered the anguish in the woman’s eyes when they’d met. Sylvia had known who she was at the time.

Another person who’d lied to her . . .

Yet Sylvia had been a victim of Brent’s lies as well. Mona couldn’t let her continue thinking her brother was a serial killer.

She hurriedly dressed, grabbed her purse, and threw on her coat, then rushed outside. Ten minutes later, she debated the wisdom of her decision to visit Sylvia. But the first time she’d seen her at the project housing, she’d sensed a troubled soul. And then the session when she’d visited Mona had connected them.

Sylvia had just lost her brother. She might blame
her
.

Still, she had to tell her the truth anyway.

Sylvia didn’t deserve to think Chance had murdered all those women.

Before she even knocked on the door, it opened, and Sylvia stood on the other side.

For a moment, the two of them simply stood there, too full of pain and anger to speak. Then the baby in her arms cooed, and as Sylvia rocked him back and forth, Mona’s anger evaporated. This child was innocent.

And now he would grow up without a father.

“I was going to come and see you,” Sylvia said, her voice raw with tears.

Mona twisted her hands together. “I didn’t know about you or . . . your son.”

Sylvia cradled the baby closer. “I know that now. And . . . I’m so sorry about Chance. He was always overprotective, but I never dreamed he’d try to hurt you.”

“I’m sorry he was shot,” Mona said, her eyes still glued to Sylvia’s baby. Brent’s son.

The wind whipped up leaves and made the wind chimes on the porch clang. Sylvia smoothed the blanket around the infant. “Do you want to come in?”

Mona shook her head, then remembered the reason she’d come “I received a message from C—Agent Coulter. He doesn’t believe Chance killed those other women. I . . . thought you’d want to know.”

Sylvia’s lower lip quivered, fresh tears pricking her eyes. “Thank you for that.”

Mona nodded. She didn’t know what else to say. She turned to leave, but Sylvia called her name, and she turned to face her. “I see why he fell in love with you,” she said in a quiet voice.

Mona tensed, suddenly despising Brent for what he’d done to both of them. “And I see why he loved you.” She smiled at the woman, and Sylvia smiled back.

If they’d met under different circumstances they might have been friends. It was possible they still could be.

But right now they both needed time to heal, so she walked back to her car.

She’d made peace with Brent’s real wife. Now she had to make peace with herself for being foolish enough to fall for his lies.

Anna was frantic. She had to find Josie.

She ran outside to her car, started the engine, and drove away from the house she hated and the father she despised.

She couldn’t even blame his hateful attitude and cruel words on the brain tumor. He might have been sheriff and thought his job was to protect the citizens, but he’d always been a bastard to her.

And now he’d hurt her daughter.

Poor Josie. She’d misunderstood everything.

And now she’d run off. She probably felt alone and confused and betrayed.

It was a mistake to have come back.

She drove down the mountain road into town, searching the side roads, the stores, and businesses for her daughter’s car. Not at the coffee shop. Or the bookstore.

Damn.

Her father had torn her and Johnny apart, locked Johnny up, and made sure he went to prison. He’d also made her doubt his innocence.

She hated him most of all for that. She hated herself even more.

But she’d been pregnant and scared, and traumatized by Johnny’s arrest. The town gossip had made it worse. All those accusations.

Then that Charlene girl had come forward and claimed Johnny had tried to strangle her, and Anna had relented to her father’s demands and gone away.

She had to explain the truth to Josie. Make her understand.

Beg her forgiveness.

She checked the library parking lot, the diner, the bar. Not that Josie frequented bars, but she had been upset, and she might have decided to have a drink.

But she wasn’t in any of those places.

Good heavens. Where was she? They hadn’t been in Graveyard Falls long enough for her to have made friends. Anna called the numbers of two of Josie’s friends back home, but neither one had heard from her.

Anna turned down a side street, once again searching the businesses and streets for Josie’s car. But she didn’t see it anywhere.

Where could she be?

The truth hit her, hard and unsettling. She’d probably read Anna’s heartfelt entries about Johnny’s prison sentence in the diary.

If Josie thought that Johnny was her father, maybe she’d gone to meet him.

Nerves knotted her shoulders.

If Josie went to see Johnny, Anna needed to be there to explain things to both of them. And she’d finally be forced to tell Johnny the truth.

He carried Josie inside the cabin, his heart beating so fast it was roaring in his ears.

“Look, Mama. I found her. The woman I’m going to marry.” He traced a finger over Josie’s cheek, memorizing her soft features. Her skin felt so delicate and soft. Her eyelashes fluttered as she tried to open her eyes. The stun gun had knocked her out so quickly that she’d fallen into his arms.

“She’s perfect, isn’t she?” he asked his mother.

“Yes, she might be.” The brunt of her illness strained her voice. “But she has to pass the tests.”

“I know. You can start the lessons right away.” He gently laid her on the sofa so he could look at her while she slept.

A second later, though, Josie opened her eyes and saw him. She looked confused and disoriented, then she tried to sit up and realized her hands and feet were bound, and she began to scream.