Rachel checked her watch. Time was slipping away from her, and each moment that passed was one less for Richard Jones—if he was alive. At least Frankie wasn’t in the wilderness, there was no cell phone reception there.
She called Jake. He’d gone to Richard Jones’s neighborhood to help Scott with the canvass. They’d found no solid leads, and the road blocks had yielded nothing. Justine was still unconscious, though the doctors had removed her from the critical list. The search for Richard had stalled completely.
Rachel could hear the frustration in Jake’s voice. Everyone on the case knew that time was against them in bringing Richard back alive.
“Have you seen Frankie lately?” she asked.
“Not today. Why?”
She wanted to tell him. To warn him. But Jake, like the sheriff and Mel, would ask for evidence to back up her claims. “If you see her, give me a call, okay?” Rachel didn’t believe Frankie was headed home, and she couldn’t track her and do the research necessary to prove her theory was correct.
“Sure, I’ll give you a call.”
She hung up and checked the time again. Seconds creeping into minutes. It was nearly midnight, but Rachel placed the call to Mischa Woods in Montgomery anyway. She was surprised when someone answered on the third ring.
“Ms. Woods, this is Deputy Rachel Redmond with the Criss County, South Dakota’s Sheriff’s office.”
There was a moment of hesitation before a clear, female voice asked, “Why is a South Dakota deputy calling me in the dead of night?”
“It’s about Frances Jackson.”
Rachel counted to twenty before the therapist spoke again. “Where is Frances?”
“Here in Criss County.”
“She’s not hurt, is she?”
“No, Frankie is fine. But I have four dead men here. Frances is connected to each of them.”
The therapist didn’t say anything.
“The dead men have been skinned and decapitated. They suffered greatly. And another man is missing.”
“And what do you think I can do to help you?”
“Tell me about Frankie. Mrs. Crozier, Frankie’s aunt, gave me your name. She said you might have information that could help me.”
“I can’t talk to you, Deputy Redmond. You know that.”
“Can you tell me how Frankie’s mother died?”
“I can tell you what I heard. There was an accident. Mrs. Jackson fell down the stairs in their home. She was crippled and had to be put in a care facility while Frankie was in college. During that time I heard she passed away. I lost contact with the Jacksons.”
“There are a lot of accidents involving members of the Jackson family, don’t you think?”
“Polly Jackson devoted herself to Frances. We gave Frances the tools to make a living and have a productive life. Polly did the best she could, under the circumstances.”
“You make Frances sound like a half–wit.”
“No. She was always smart. Too smart. She can absorb anything you put in front of her. A photographic memory. It was never her intellect that concerned us.” She cleared her throat. “I can’t talk to you about this. Frances was my patient.”
“Was Mrs. Jackson your patient?”
“No.”
“This fall. You called it an accident. Is that what you really believe?”
“How will any of this information help solve murders in South Dakota? I’m sorry, but I have to go.”
“Wait!” Rachel felt the door closing, and she knew she had to stop it. “Richard Jones will suffer a terrible death if we don’t find him.”
“Richard helped finance my clinic.” Mischa’s voice had grown deadly quiet. “He’s a kind man, a generous man.”
“Frankie is after someone else. Otherwise, she would have killed Richard and fled. I have to find the person or people she intends to get. Is there anything you can tell me? Is there someone who knew Mrs. Jackson?”
“There was a nurses’ aide. Rebecca Clay. She was fond of Polly, and I know Polly’s death upset her terribly. I’ll give you her number, but wait until the morning to call her. She’s not well herself.”
“Thanks.” Rachel took down the number. The fact that Mischa Woods was helping her told her that the therapist believed Frankie was capable of murder. It was one small validation of her darkest fears.
She felt a tap on her shoulder and found Gladys standing over her.
“Go home,” Gladys said. “You won’t be any good to anyone if you don’t get some rest.”
# # #
“Jake, I need your help.” Frankie put all of the Southern belle pathos she could manage into her voice. “My truck’s in the shop and I got a rental and now it won’t start. I’m stuck just outside the city limits headed to my place. That killer is still on the loose and I’m afraid.”
“Hang on. I’ll be there as quick as I can. And while you’re waiting, give Rachel a call. She was just asking for you.”
“Thank you, Jake. You’re a true gentleman.”
“My daddy taught me well. Be there in ten.”
“I wonder what else your father taught you?” Frankie said to the empty air as she snapped her cell phone shut. Her truck was fine. On her way out of town, she’d stopped by Rachel’s place and left another little present for her. One that would rock her world when she finally saw it. The new lock had presented a problem, but nothing she couldn’t manage. Locks, tumblers, sliding bolts. With the right equipment, they were no challenge at all. And she’d made it a point to have the finest burglary tools available.
The cry of a small animal cut the still night. The road was empty, rather an amazing fact. Usually someone driving up to the casinos in Deadwood would pass by, but tonight no one was about. Looking in both directions, she saw only emptiness on the county road.
One of the great satisfactions of her work was that she’d make certain the four–lane never went through. By the time she finished with Harvey Dilson, his political influence would be akin to a rattlesnake bite, purely poison and unwanted. No one would touch a project he’d been involved in once she was done with him.
Headlights climbed a rise to the south, and she freshened her lipstick. Jake to the rescue. Now she had to assume the role of damsel in distress. She bent under the hood, giving him a perfect view of her taut backside as he pulled up and stopped. She heard the truck door slam.
“I think this thingy here has come loose,” she said, mumbling so that he leaned down beside her to look. She held the distributor cap wire in her hand.
“Looks like an easy fix.” He flashed his penlight from the truck’s motor to her face, then back down into the engine. “I wonder how it came loose. That doesn’t normally happen.”
“I was driving home when the truck stopped and wouldn’t start. I’m lucky you were available, Jake. I might have spent the entire night out here.”
“You could have called Dad or Gordon. Heck, just about any guy in town would have come.”
“That’s a moot issue since you came to help.”
He reconnected the wires and stood. The beam of the flashlight fell on her boots. “You’re good to go.”
“I’m concerned that it might come loose again. I know it’s a lot to ask, but would you follow me home? I’d love a nightcap and someone to talk to. I’m a little blue tonight. My crews are quitting, my job is going down the tube.” She gave a pitiful, tremulous smile. “I’m feeling sorry for myself and some company would be appreciated.”
“Okay, I’ll follow you, but I can’t stay long.”
She got in her truck and took off before he had time to change his mind.