Faith had never been more grateful for a phone call than this morning when Willow told her that Leslie was ready to talk. She’d been dreading facing Asher after last night. There was no way she could pretend anymore that she thought of him as just a friend. But she was still so shocked at the turn of events that she didn’t know what to do.
She was a coward twice over, again not wanting to have an honest, tough conversation. Thankfully, he must have picked up on that and he hadn’t even brought up what had happened. But how long would he wait? And how long was it fair to keep him waiting? It wasn’t a secret how he felt about her. He deserved to know how she felt about him. But how did she feel? He’d been firmly in the best friend category for nearly two years. Thinking of him in any other capacity was...confusing. And it had her on edge.
After going home for a shower and change of clothes, she’d returned, ready to take him to the Parkses’ home. Her already high anxiety went off the charts when he said he was going to drive his truck instead of being chauffeured in her car. He’d insisted it had been long enough, that he needed to give it a try to see how it went. The only reason she’d backed down and didn’t argue was that he’d readily agreed if it was too difficult, too painful, he’d pull over and let her drive.
When they reached the Parkses’ neighborhood and turned onto their street, Asher groaned and pulled to a stop. “Newshounds. They’re camped outside Leslie’s home.”
Faith fisted her hand on the seat. “That pushy brassy-blonde anchorwoman’s leading the pack. I can practically smell her hair spray from here. Every time I see her it makes me want to dye my hair brown.”
He chuckled. “I’m sure Miranda Cummings is a very nice person. You should give her a chance. Maybe you two could become great friends.”
“Not even in my worst nightmares. What’s the plan? Sneak in from the backyard? We could call ahead, let the Parkses know.”
“That would only give the media more fodder for gossip if someone spotted us. I don’t want to give them a video clip for their prime-time broadcast. And I can’t imagine Grayson being happy seeing us climbing over a fence on the news, even if we do get the homeowner’s permission.”
“Good point. The direct approach it is.”
“Should I take your gun, to keep Miranda safe?”
“Probably. But I’m not giving it to you.”
He smiled and drove farther down the street. But he was forced to pull to the curb a good block away because there was no available space any closer. “Looks like we’re hoofing it from here. No shooting, Faith.”
“If she thrusts a microphone in my face, I’m not responsible for my actions.” She smirked and popped open her door.
Asher jogged to catch up and she immediately slowed, glancing at him in concern. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you hustle like that. How’s your back? Breathing okay?”
He surprised her by putting his arm around her shoulders. “Getting better all the time. See? I couldn’t do this a few days ago.”
She ducked down and gently pushed his arm off her shoulders. “And you can’t do it today either.”
“Spoilsport.”
She laughed. He smiled. And her world was right again. At least until they reached the walkway to the Parkses’ home and the anchorwoman recognized them.
“Don’t look now,” she whispered. “The bulldog and her cameraman are running over as fast as her stilettos will allow.”
“Then we’ll just have to run faster.” He winked and grabbed her hand, tugging her with him, double-time, up the path.
Faith didn’t even have a chance to worry about his injuries or try to stop him. She had to jog to keep up with his long-legged strides. But they made it to the front door before Cummings and her cameraman could maneuver around the other media to cut them off.
The door swung open and Mr. Parks waved Faith and Asher inside, firmly closing the door behind them.
He shook his graying head. “Danged rude reporters. They haven’t left since the day you found our Jasmine. Neighbors have to bring us groceries so we don’t get mobbed going outside. The police had people out here the first couple of days. But then they left, won’t do a thing about it.”
Faith took his hands in hers. “Mr. Parks, we’re so sorry for your loss. We truly are, and everything you and your family are going through.”
He patted her hand, smiling through unshed tears. But before he could respond, Mrs. Parks ambled into the foyer. “Lawd, Ms. Lancaster. You don’t have anything to apologize for, you or Mr. Whitfield. If it weren’t for both of you, we’d never have gotten our Jasmine back. We were finally able to give her a proper burial. And thanks to you, Mr. Whitfield, our baby, Leslie, is home safe and sound. If we’d lost both of them, I just don’t think we could have made it. You saved our little family.”
Faith held back her own tears as Mrs. Parks hugged Asher. She was probably the only one who noticed him slightly stiffening when Mr. Parks squeezed his shoulder and patted him on the back. But just as Faith took a step forward to warn them to be careful, he gave her a subtle shake of his head. She understood. These people had suffered one of the most painful losses possible, the loss of a child. If hugging him or pounding his back gave them some comfort, his physical pain was a small price to pay.
The four of them sat in the modest family room for a good half hour, with Asher and Faith being showed the family albums and listening to the couple reminisce about their precious Jasmine.
Mrs. Parks grabbed a stack of pictures from an end table and fanned them out on top of the last album. “These are from her funeral. I don’t think we could have gotten even one more person in the church if we tried. And look at all those flowers.”
Faith looked at every picture then carefully stacked them again and handed them back to her. “Jasmine was obviously well loved. She must have been a very special young woman.”
“Oh, she was. She definitely was. Her two babies are half grown now and just as smart and precocious as she was.” Her smile dimmed as she exchanged a suffering look with her husband. “’Course, we don’t get to see them near as often as we’d like to. Their daddy moved an hour away from here.”
Her husband patted her shoulder. “We see them once or twice a month. They’re healthy and happy and love their nana and papa. That’s what matters.”
“I suppose.” She didn’t sound convinced.
Faith reached across the coffee table and squeezed her hand. “I’m sure no grandparents feel they get to see their grandchildren enough.”
“Honey, you got that right. Can I get either of you some coffee, some pie? I made apple pie last night when Leslie said she was thinking about calling Mrs. Prescott this morning, just in case. You have to try my pie.”
Faith glanced at Asher for help.
He leaned forward, gently closing the last photo album. “Maybe we can have a piece of pie to go. Right now we’d really like to speak to Leslie, if she’s still okay talking to us. It could really help with the investigation. We want to get justice for Jasmine, and for what Leslie went through. It’s also urgent that we catch this man before he hurts someone else.”
“Oh, goodness. And here I’ve been rattling on and on.” She dabbed at her eyes. “Charles, check on Leslie. See if she’s ready.”
“I’m ready, Mama,” a soft voice said from the hallway off to Asher’s right. She nodded at Faith and gave Asher a tentative smile. “You’re the man who saved me.”
He stood and smiled down at her, offering his hand.
When she took it, instead of shaking it, he held it with both of his. “And you’re one of the bravest young women I’ve ever met. You’re a survivor, Leslie. Don’t let what this man did define you. You’re going to go on and do amazing things with your life.”
Her eyes widened and she seemed to stand a little straighter. “You think so? You think I’m brave?”
“I know so.”
She cleared her throat and nodded at Faith, who’d moved to stand beside him. “I don’t think I know anything that will help you catch him. But I’ll answer any questions that you have, if I can.”
“Thank you,” Faith said. She looked around the small house. “Is there somewhere we can go to talk privately? No offense, Mr. and Mrs. Parks. It’s just that sometimes survivors feel more comfortable talking without their loved ones in the same room.”
They exchanged surprised looks, but Mr. Parks overrode whatever his wife was about to say. “Of course. Leslie, take them to Jasmine’s room. They might want to see her pictures anyway. You can answer any questions they have about her too.”
Leslie didn’t seem enthusiastic about his suggestion. But she waved Faith and Asher to follow her down the hall. The last room on the left was a surprising combination of adult and child. The full-size bed on one wall had a contemporary, grown-up feel with its country-chic bedding and subdued tones. But the other side of the room boasted a bunk bed with bright blue football-themed blankets and pillows on top, and a fluffy pink comforter with white unicorns dancing all over it on the bottom.
“I never come in here since...” Leslie’s voice was small, quiet. “Mama cleans it every week as if she expects Jazz to come through the door and pick up where she left off.”
“I can tell she loves both of you very much.” Faith motioned to the big bed. “Do you think it would be okay if we sit on her bed so we can talk?”
Leslie shrugged then sat. “Don’t guess it matters now. She’s in Heaven. I wonder if mama will keep cleaning the room.”
Per the plan that Faith and Asher had worked out on the way over, Faith did most of the talking. They figured it would be easier for a woman who’d been victimized by a man to talk to another woman. Asher pulled out a chair from the small desk along a wall with a collage of pictures and spoke up just a few times to ask questions that Faith didn’t think to ask.
To Faith’s disappointment, the only thing Leslie told them that was new information was that the killer had zapped her with a Taser to abduct her when she was out walking in her neighborhood. She’d have to remember to tell Chief Russo so he could send someone back to where Leslie had been abducted to search for the tiny Anti-Felon Identification confetti tags that shoot out of Tasers when fired. If the killer had legally purchased the cartridges used to deploy the darts, the tags would trace back to him. But she wasn’t hanging her hopes on a legal purchase.
Leslie also said the man who’d abducted her had zip-tied her wrists together and then threatened her with a large, wicked-looking knife—likely the same one that he’d used to stab Asher—to get her to do what he’d wanted.
When Leslie couldn’t think of anything else to tell them in response to their questions, Faith pulled the stack of photos out of her purse that she’d printed off before leaving Asher’s home.
“Leslie, would you mind looking at these? I know it’s been five years since your sister went missing, but if any of these people seem familiar, let me know. We’re wondering whether your sister knew any of them. Their names are on the back of each picture.”
Leslie dutifully looked through the photos and read each name. When she handed them back, she shook her head. “I don’t recognize any of them. But I didn’t hang with her and her friends. She was older than me. She’d graduated high school before I even started. I’m sorry. I guess I haven’t been too helpful.”
“You’ve been a huge help. We don’t know which details will be important until the case all falls together.”
Leslie nodded, but didn’t seem convinced.
Asher leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “Leslie, you were with your abductor for several hours. The sketch you and Ms. Lancaster helped the police artist draw is very good. But it’s impressions, thing like how he spoke, certain word choices he might have used that stood out, things that don’t show up in a sketch that might help us too. Faith and I spoke to him. But we weren’t with him all that long. Neither of us picked up on anything unique or different that might make him stand out. Is there anything at all that you can think of that we may have missed?”
She started to shake her head no then stopped. “Well, it’s probably not important.”
“What?” Faith asked. “Tell us.”
“I’m sure you noticed too. Maybe not him.” She motioned to Asher. “But you probably did. His eyebrows.”
Faith blinked. “Uh, his eyebrows? What about them?”
Leslie rolled her eyes and Faith suddenly realized how irritating that could be. Maybe she should work on trying to break that annoying habit herself.
“They were dark,” Leslie said. “You know, really dark. Guys don’t pencil their brows, at least none that I know. His blond hair didn’t match his brows.” She shrugged. “Like I said, probably doesn’t help. But I think his natural hair color is a very dark brown, like his eyebrows. He either bleached his hair lighter or he was wearing a wig as a disguise.”
A knock sounded on the open door and Mr. Parks stood in the entry. “Everything going okay?”
Asher stood. “Yes, sir. I think we’re finished. We appreciate you allowing us to come into your home. And thank you, Leslie. You’ve been very patient with our questions.”
She smiled, and Faith noticed the hero worship in her eyes. Asher had earned a life-long fan when he’d rescued Leslie. There might even be a little infatuation going on there. Faith couldn’t blame the young woman. She was in the throes of a major crush on Asher herself. And still so shocked she didn’t know what she was going to do about it.
Asher motioned to the large photo collage on the wall above the desk. “Mr. Parks, would you mind if I snap some pictures of those? Just the ones of your daughter, Jasmine, and her friends?”
He shrugged. “Help yourself. She sure had a lot of friends, a lot of people who loved her.” He smiled and tapped one of the pictures that showed Jasmine and four other young women in a bright yellow raft going over a four-foot waterfall that began a series of small rapids, probably class twos, maybe a few threes, too, just enough to make the trip exciting without being too dangerous for beginners and intermediate rafters. All of the women were smiling and appeared to be having the time of their lives.
“That there is the first time she ever went white-water rafting,” Mr. Parks continued. “See her sitting right up front, holding that rope instead of a paddle? That’s some kind of trick the guides show them, riding the bull or something like that. She wasn’t afraid at all and jumped up front to give it a try. ’Course her best friend told me the secret, that she fell into the water right after the guide took that picture.” He chuckled. “She’d have hated it if I knew that.” His smile disappeared and his expression turned sad. “Come on, Leslie. Let’s give these nice people a few minutes to take their pictures.”
Faith exchanged a sad smile with Asher then helped him by moving some of the photos out from behind others so he could get good shots of all of them.
It took another half hour to extricate themselves from the home. Mrs. Parks was obviously going through grief all over again with the discovery of her oldest daughter’s body. And she desperately needed to talk about her. Asher was far more patient with her than Faith, who’d been trying to edge them toward the door much sooner than he did.
When they did finally leave, they had an entire apple pie in a large brown paper bag. They’d tried to turn it down, but when it became clear that Mrs. Parks would be offended if they didn’t take it, Asher had graciously accepted her gift and kissed her on the cheek.
Faith grinned at him once they got through the media gauntlet and were back in his truck heading down the road.
“What?” he asked. “Did I miss a joke somewhere?”
“I just think it’s cute.”
“Cute? You think I’m cute?”
“No. I mean yes. No secret there. You’re an extremely handsome man. But I’m talking about the Parks women. It’s cute that both of them have crushes on you.”
“I sure hope not. Can we go back to that part about you thinking I’m extremely handsome?”
“Nope. Your ego’s healthy enough as it is.” She held up her phone. “And I’m busy trying to reach my baby sister.”
“Your daily text?”
“Not every day.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Seriously. I try not to hover.”
He laughed. “I can’t imagine what you think hovering looks like.”
“Whatever. I just worry about her. One text a day isn’t hovering. It’s caring.”
“So you admit it’s daily.”
“I’m through with this conversation.” She scowled as she stared at her phone. “She hasn’t answered yet.”
“Give her a few seconds.”
“It’s been far more than that. I texted her on the way to the Parkses’ house. That was almost two hours ago.”
“If you’re really worried, why not call her?”
She checked the time. “No. I think she’s in her chem class right now. I’ll wait.” She set the phone beside her. “Did you catch anything I missed in what Leslie told us? I didn’t feel as if we learned anything new. Well, except that maybe our killer dyes his hair. Or wears a wig. I suppose that’s something.”
“It’s a good reminder not to get thrown off by hair color if we see someone who fits his description in any other way. But, I agree. Nothing really new. I do want to review those pictures I took in her bedroom. Most of them appeared to be from the bar where she worked. I’d like to review them closely to see whether our killer could be in any of the background shots. Maybe he’s been at that bar before and that’s how he zeroed in on her as his target.”
“Can I see your phone?”
He pulled it out of his jeans’ pocket and gave it to her.
She flipped through the snapshots he’d taken of Jasmine’s photos. Nothing stood out. The pictures taken at The Watering Hole, the bar where she’d worked, didn’t reveal anything surprising. It was just a bar. Not one of the sleazy ones, more like a bar and grill. The grill part took up one side and the bar the other. Jasmine looked so young and happy, posing with other young people who could have been friends or patrons, or both. It was so heart-wrenching knowing her life would be cut short not long after many of these had been taken.
Faith was about to hand the phone back to Asher when something in the background of one of the shots caught her attention. She tapped the screen then enlarged the shot.
“No way.”
“You found something?”
“Maybe.” She grabbed her own phone, flipped through her photos, then stopped and compared it with one on Asher’s phone. “It’s her. June Aguirre is in one of the background shots. And if I’m not mistaken...give me a sec.” She flipped through more photos on both phones until she could compare two more shots. “Asher, another one of our victims is in this picture, at The Watering Hole, where Jasmine worked. It’s victim number three, Dana Randolph. That makes three of our victims so far—Jasmine, June and Dana. I think we’ve found our link.”