My phone was ringing off the hook when I got home and barricaded myself inside. It was close to ten but felt a whole lot later. After finding the pictures, I feared to involve Melanie further. She was right: we’d started this together, but my God, after seeing the detailed decomposition in stages, it cast a whole new light on the type of killer we were dealing with.
Quinn was fuming when I finally answered his call. He’d been leaving me voicemails all evening. “Where did you go? I turned around for one second, and you vanished. You understand how dangerous that is with some lunatic on the outside working with Kevin. We have no idea who we’re dealing with here.”
I had a good idea. “You thought I was crazy, Quinn. That I brought this whole thing on myself for obsessing.”
“I’m sorry I doubted you regarding the threats. And you’ll be happy to know I’m working alongside the special agent as we now believe there is a potential connection between the two cases.”
No shit, Sherlock. And I have the pictures to prove it. But hearing the edge in his voice, I decided I’d pass them on to Brad instead.
“I just had to get out of there. Besides, you were attacking me.” I took my loop earrings out and put them in my jewelry box.
“I wasn’t attacking you. I care about you. You’re a bullheaded woman.” He sounded as if he were speaking through clenched teeth.
“Gee, you’re really winning me over now, you sweet talker.”
“Please. Please.”
“I don’t want to argue with you. I’m home, and I’m safe. Don’t worry.” I was worried enough for both of us.
“Who else knew about your book club’s pick?”
His question caused me to falter.
“Lyla, first the note Carol left you referenced the book the club was reading, now whoever is threatening you—”
“And Amelia,” I added.
“And Amelia—also began to follow suit.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you! And your ‘bullheaded comment’? Pot meet kettle,” I said, flabbergasted.
“Okay. You’re right. Just please, who else knew?”
I puffed out my cheeks. “Well the library posts each month’s book club pick on the message forum online and in the library.”
“How long has that been going on?”
“Since the beginning. We use it to draw new members. Oh, and Sweet Reads on the square also puts the Jane Doe Book Club pick of the month in a small display at the front of the bookstore.”
“So anyone and everyone who is interested in what your club is reading can easily find out?” Quinn blew out a breath.
“Yeah.”
“And a club full of women isn’t exactly known for their secrecy. Patsy spread the news of the note to half the mothers in Sweet Mountain. My office has been receiving calls of concern from her Mommy and Me class.”
I rubbed my forehead. Oh Patsy.
A number flashed up on the screen.
“Listen, I’ve got another call. Let’s take tonight as a warning sign that we should never be involved on a personal level. If you need me to come down to the police station to make another statement or to answer more questions, call me. And thanks for dinner.”
I answered the call from Sweet Mountain Correctional. “Hello.”
“This is a collect call from Kevin, an inmate at Sweet Mountain Correctional Facility. Press one to accept the charges.”
I did.
“Lyla, have you heard?”
“Yes. Just now, actually.” I unzipped my boots and sat on my bed, pulling them off. “I’ve had sort of a rough night myself. Someone left me a warning on the bathroom mirror at the Trail Head Grill.”
“What? What kind of warning?” Kevin sounded so exhausted.
“A ‘stop meddling or you’ll end up dead’ message. In the form of a rhyme.” I pulled the scarf off my neck and shivered before gingerly placing it on my carryall beside me.
“My God. A nursery rhyme like the Agatha Chrissy book?”
Goose bumps traveled across my flesh. “Christie.”
“Huh? Hey, wait! If you got a warning, that proves it isn’t me! It’s good news.”
I glanced heavenward and closed my eyes. “Yes, I’m so glad I have a stalker who might prove you’re innocent.” I didn’t want him to think I suspected him. No wonder we never worked out. The first thing that entered his mind was his own safety.
“I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant. You have no idea how horrible this place is. I won’t make it in here long.”
A loud ruckus sounded in the background. I couldn’t imagine being inside. Just the visitation had me on edge.
“It’s okay. What do you know about Agatha Christie?”
“Not much.” He sounded hesitant. “Just that someone is leaving threats like some book she wrote. Don’t jump to conclusions! Ellen told me.”
Ellen isn’t a reader!
“Kevin, did Carol file charges against you?”
“I told you we were at odds. She was going to drop the charges. She didn’t want her stupid husband to suspect she told me anything, so she filed the complaint one night when Judge Timms came home and caught me there. I was worried about her and ran out. It was stupid. I should have gotten her out. Instead, I angered the beast. That’s what she called him, you know, ‘the beast.’ I’m innocent, Lyla! I swear on my life.”
“Well, not to pull you down further, but they think you have an accomplice out here. Someone angry enough to come after me.” I walked into the bathroom and dropped my dress into the hamper. “Or maybe whoever threatened me is trying to, as you say, make you appear innocent. You did know about the rhyme.” Opening the glass shower door, I turned on the shower to let the water warm up.
“Appear innocent? I didn’t do it! I did not do it! My God. Did you find anything? Evidence or pictures or whatever?”
I froze. First, he’d known about the book club pick. Now he was claiming the evidence Carol left was in the form of pictures. Was Quinn right after all?
“You say she left pictures? Did she say where she left them?”
“I don’t know. I think she might have said … um … pictures.”
“Of what?”
He blew out a breath. “I don’t know. But if you find them, you’ll turn them over to my attorney and no one else. Right? That asshole Quinn won’t do right by me, and you know it.” Bitterness traveled through the line.
The phone started making a clicking noise, and the automated voice came over right before the line went dead.
Feeling filthy after the night’s events, I took a long, hot shower, scrubbing my skin multiple times and shampooing twice. I dried my hair and threw on some PJs, dead tired when I finally crawled into my king-sized bed and opened my laptop. I plugged in the flash drive.
I should call Brad right now and have him come over and get these. But I didn’t. I stared at my cell for a few long moments. Dozens and dozens of pictures flashed over the screen. I recoiled from the images and had to steel myself to go back to them every time. If I had to detach to examine these images, then that was what I was going to do.
The pictures were taken of the same corpse over several years’ time. The first pictures were in the fall, with the Jane Doe crammed into the paisley suitcase. The image was reminiscent of how I’d found Carol. To take these pictures, the person would have to unzip the suitcase every time for a new shot. I swallowed the bile that made its way up my throat.
There were some shots in the spring and some in the summer. None in the winter. She’d indeed been a Caucasian woman, just as the article had suggested. Her clothing had been blue but was now threads and rags.
“Who are you?” I asked the deceased woman, who might’ve been in her early twenties before her murder—the ligature marks and bruising of the eyes proof of a crime. Though there wasn’t much blood pictured. There hadn’t been with Carol either. She must’ve been killed somewhere else, crammed into the suitcase, and then dumped there.
I was about to close the computer when I had a thought. The article asked if anyone recognized the jewelry the woman had on her person. So caught up with the scarf, I’d completely forgotten to see if I could find other images of the necklace. I clicked through the pictures, hunting for a closer shot. There! I zoomed in on the woman’s V-neck shirt. A silver or perhaps white gold necklace was around her neck. I needed to get a better look and zoomed just as close as I could without making the image too grainy.
I gasped. Hopping off my bed, I dug through my jewelry box, tearing everything out until finally I found what I was looking for. Hurrying back to the bed, I held my necklace next to the screen. Oh. My. God. The Jane Doe had on the exact necklace with an angel pendant with a single blue topaz stone in the middle. What were the chances it belonged to the dead Jane Doe? Mother had said Grandmother had them custom-made for Ellen and me. My necklace dropped from my fingers. What was the Jane Doe doing with Ellen’s necklace?