CHAPTER THIRTEEN

 

 

My sleep was riddled with nightmares, most of them involving Hunter Parsons and Jenna. I woke up still tired, but that was no surprise. It would take a couple of good nights of sleep to make up for my all-nighter and then being dragged out late last night.

I headed to school, a fresh deputy in tow, and went about my normal routine. I wasn’t in the mood to do anything to make my first class interesting, and as a result, it was boring as hell. I could tell from the looks on my students’ faces, plus the fact that what I was saying could barely hold my own attention.

When I got to my office and pulled out my phone, I saw that I’d received a text from Baxter: I heard you yelled at Manetti and called him an asshole and lived to tell about it.

Cracking a smile for the first time today, I sat down at my desk and texted back, Yes, I did. I guess you also heard I’m off the case. Sorry.

Only a few moments went by until I had a response: No need to apologize. I get it.

It was only then that it hit me—I’d never work another case with Baxter. Last night had solidified my decision that I wasn’t up for consulting with the department anymore. The hard part would be having to tell Baxter that this was it. That wasn’t a discussion to have over text messaging. Our differences aside, I’d enjoyed working with him more than any other coworker I’d ever had.

When I offered no response to his last text, he wrote, I’ll see you at the funeral tomorrow. Then he added, If you need a friend, I’m here for you.

For some odd reason, I got a warm feeling in the pit of my stomach after reading that last text. Typical Baxter, always the white knight.

I texted back, Thanks.

I did need a friend, but I wouldn’t dream of clouding his mind with my problems. He had enough work to do to find this killer, especially with the clock ticking for Michaela Richards. If Hunter Parsons stuck to the same forty-eight-hour time period he had with Jenna, it stood to reason that if no one figured out where he was by midnight tonight, Michaela wouldn’t live to see tomorrow. A cold chill ran up my spine as a morbid thought popped into my head. Jenna’s funeral was tomorrow morning, and there would be scores of law enforcement and government officials in attendance. What if he decided to use it to make some sort of violent spectacle?

I called Baxter. “Hey, um…about the funeral tomorrow. Are you guys doing something to beef up security there?”

I could hear the smile in his voice. “Way ahead of you. We’ve got dozens of undercover officers that are going to be in the crowd, watching out for the funeral-goers. The Fed is even bringing in some fancy FBI badasses to oversee security. If the killer tries anything, we’ll be ready.”

Breathing out a sigh of relief, I replied, “Good. Even though I’m off the case, I can’t turn off my brain.”

“I figured as much. If you have any more ideas, don’t hesitate to call me. Day or night. You know I’ll be up.”

Poor Baxter. And Sterling, too. Neither of those two would let themselves catch much more than a catnap until they had this case tied up.

“I know. Stay safe.”

“That’s my line. And don’t try to ditch your deputy.”

I smiled again. “Would I do that?”

“Yes. Talk to you later.”

“Bye.”

***

I managed to make a lunch date with Rachel, so after my next class I headed to the campus food court to meet her, my deputy shadow in tow. By the time I got my food, she was already seated at a table, waving me down. The deputy opted to keep watch near the wall.

Rachel said, “I see you have a new bodyguard today.”

I blew out a breath. “Yeah. The guys have been nice and all, but I’m getting so tired of being watched all the time.”

“And I’m getting tired of living out of a suitcase, away from my son. When can we come home?”

“Soon, I hope. The killer ditched his car last night, so there goes a big identifier for him.”

“Anyone call in on the tip line?”

“No one who’s mentally competent.”

She nodded, focusing on her salad. After a moment, she looked up, and her eyes were misty. “So the funeral is tomorrow.”

“Right. At ten. Want to ride with me and my deputy du jour?”

“Okay.”

After a lengthy bit of dead air between us, I asked, “How is studying going for finals?”

Rachel shrugged. “Good, I guess. How are your classes?”

“Let’s just say I’ve done better.”

She nodded, and we slipped back into silence.

It felt like no subject was safe to discuss. Talking about Nate, which was what we usually did, would make both of us sad. The subject of school wasn’t much better, because losing Jenna had put a massive hole in Rachel’s campus life. I couldn’t handle talking about Rachel’s loser boyfriend, so that was out. Any mention of Christmas was off the table, considering we went to Jayne’s every Christmas Eve for the get-together she always hosted for her family. I couldn’t imagine that was going to happen this year.

Rachel put her fork down and looked at me with such haunted eyes my heart nearly broke. “Are you free tonight to go with me to David’s to see Nate?”

I smiled. “I am. Why don’t we meet after your last class, and we’ll drive over together? Free ride in a sheriff’s cruiser.”

The corner of her mouth turned up barely. “Mmm. How enticing.”

“You know it.” I put my hand over hers. “We will get through this, Rach.”

Her eyes filling with tears, she nodded. “I know. Someday.”

***

Rachel and I had a wonderful time with Nate, David, and Marjorie. I was proud of how composed my sister was around Nate after having been so worried about whether or not she could hold it together during the visit. The evening was over much too soon, and afterward my assigned deputy dropped Rachel at school and me at home. It was time for a shift change, and I got yet another deputy I didn’t know. This guy wasn’t chatty at all, and he didn’t seem to like Trixie very much, so I didn’t feel bad about holing up in my room with the dog for the rest of the evening while he sat alone in my living room. I watched the news, which probably wasn’t a good idea, since it only made me sad. They’d interviewed Baxter tonight. He looked haggard and pale, and seemed downright depressed about how the case was progressing.

Worried, I called him.

When he answered, he said, “I hope you’re calling with a brilliant thought that is going to crack this case wide open, because I’m officially out of ideas.”

I winced at the despondent tone of his voice. “No, sorry. I called to ask if you were taking care of yourself. You looked pretty rough on the news.”

His tone turned light, but I could still sense an undercurrent of dismay. “That cameraman promised me he got my good side.”

“He lied.”

Baxter chuckled. “I suppose I wasn’t looking so good after our one and only lead turned out to be a total bust.”

I sat up straighter. “You had a lead?”

“Yeah. We had a tip line call from up in Sheridan. An old farmer swears up and down he saw a silver Corolla parked at his neighbor’s barn yesterday. This morning it was gone. That farm happened to be one of the ones we had on our list. It was owned by someone connected to one of the old cases we’ve been going over, and it went into foreclosure last month. It couldn’t have fit the profile any better. Long story short, the Fed had us go in guns blazing, only to find nothing in the barn. Amanda and Beck combed the place, but it was clean. Not even any animal blood to be found. When we went next door to talk to the man, we found out that he’s an Alzheimer’s patient who is in and out of lucidity. His wife fell asleep while they were watching the noon news broadcast, and he called the tip line while she wasn’t paying attention.”

“Ugh. That sucks.”

“Needless to say, we put a new person on the tip line—someone who’ll vet the tippers a little better.” He sighed. “I was really hoping this one would pan out. I’m afraid we’re running out of time.”

I knew everyone was on pins and needles, especially since the forty-eight-hour window closed tonight. Things did not look good for Michaela Richards.

“I’m sorry. I wish there was something I could do.”

“You’ve done a lot. More than anyone could have or should have asked of you. Now you’ve got one job—to keep yourself safe.”

“You sound like a broken record.”

“I have to because you’re so hard-headed.”

I smiled. “Try to get some rest, Detective.”

“I make no promises.”

***

One of the reasons I hadn’t wanted to cancel any of my classes earlier in the week was that I knew I had Jenna’s funeral to attend on Thursday morning. I didn’t want to miss any more work than I had to. I’d managed to wrangle Samantha’s TA away for a couple of hours so my morning classes could go on as scheduled.

I took my time getting ready for the funeral, for the simple fact that I couldn’t concentrate on the task at hand. My mind was on Jayne, on Rachel, on Nate, on Baxter, and ultimately always ended up on Michaela Richards and her dire situation. I kept going back to what Baxter had said—that it could easily have been me instead of her if Jayne hadn’t asked me to help out when we realized Jenna was missing. I guessed in that sense it was something of a blessing. One of the most difficult nights of my life ended up being the one thing that saved me from kidnapping and certain death.

Today’s assigned deputy was Chris Lester, who I’d met when I found Jenna’s phone earlier in the week. It seemed like an age ago. Deputy Lester and I picked up a disturbingly somber Rachel and headed toward the funeral home. It was packed with people—a mix of law enforcement, students, friends, community members, and family. I spotted a few gawkers, which was standard for the funeral of a murder victim. I did, however, keep an eagle eye out for Hunter Parsons, in case he had the brass balls to show his face here.

I saw Baxter and Sterling, both dressed sharply in suits and ties. Both of them were carrying their service pistols in shoulder holsters under their coats, which made me feel at the same time safe and apprehensive. Baxter caught my eye and gave me a curt nod. It was clear to me that he was in cop mode rather than in funeral-goer mode. I returned a sad smile and guided Rachel to a seat behind Jayne.

When I reached forward and squeezed Jayne’s shoulder, she put her hand over mine and drew in a shuddering breath. The family had opted for a closed casket rather than trying to hide the large gash on Jenna’s neck, and I was happier for it. Even though my last glimpse of her was on the slab in the morgue, I couldn’t bear to see sweet Jenna in a box.

The funeral was excruciatingly sad, with numerous friends and family telling stories about Jenna and her positive effect on their lives. Rachel and Jayne didn’t get up to speak. I knew they couldn’t. Miranda, Jenna’s roommate, managed to get most of the way through her eulogy before breaking down. I dreaded the burial at the cemetery even more. For one thing, it had started snowing this morning, and it was bitterly cold. Even colder was the thought of leaving Jenna’s body out there alone under the frozen earth.

I felt as if I were in a daze as we joined the funeral procession heading to the cemetery. There weren’t nearly enough chairs for the attendees, so I had Rachel sit with Jayne while I stood off to the side. My sister looked downright frail, and I feared she didn’t have the strength to stand through the short burial service.

Baxter came to stand beside me. He murmured, “Doing okay?”

“I’m holding it together,” I lied. The only thing holding me together was that I didn’t want to break down in front of Rachel.

It was snowing just enough to be annoying. I tucked the ends of my scarf into the neck of my coat and shoved my gloved hands in my pockets, hoping to better brace myself against the cold. Wordlessly, Baxter put his arm around my shoulders. The heat from his body warmed me considerably, but my head was fighting the sympathy radiating from him. I couldn’t give in and cry on his shoulder, although that’s what I wanted more than anything to be able to do.

The minister began giving the final burial rights, and I felt Baxter suddenly stiffen next to me and drop his arm. After looking at his phone, he turned and stared behind us, his face going white.