Teardrop Falls
A man of few words, Cord’s text to Ellie was short and to the point:
Teardrop Falls. Locals who’ve lost loved ones go there to pray and mourn their loss. Meet at Springer Mountain and I’ll guide you there.
Ellie’s lungs squeezed for air as she parked at the base of the mountain a short while later. The falls were roughly five miles north of Springer Mountain. After leaving Carrie Winters’ house, she and Derrick had dropped her hate mail at the station to be forwarded to the lab at the Bureau and he’d sent Bryce a message to have any mail her father had received sent there as well.
Derrick had found Carrie’s laptop in her bedroom. It was password protected, so he’d also sent it to the lab.
“If Bryce comes up empty at the Men’s Den, maybe we’ll find a calendar of Carrie’s clients,” Derrick said.
Ellie nodded. “If one of them wanted more than Carrie offered, or stalked her and she rejected him, it could have triggered his rage. Although if that’s the case, why didn’t he start with Carrie?”
“It’s true that a killer’s first victim is often more personal,” Derrick said. “But not always the case. Sometimes the other victims are a replacement for the one he really wants to kill.”
Ellie inhaled a painful breath, an awkward silence falling between them. Hiram had killed all those little girls, including Derrick’s sister, as a replacement for her. She didn’t need a reminder. She’d never forget it.
The sound of Cord’s truck pulling up beside them saved her from the memory.
As she climbed from the vehicle, the giant rocky ridges of the mountains climbed toward the sky. Wildflowers dotted the expanse of green, poking up through the grass and weeds, adding shades of purple, yellow, white and red as vibrant as the sunrise.
Although majestic in beauty, the shadowed, isolated areas in the dense thickets provided countless places to hide. There were drop-offs and ledges so narrow that crossing them meant plastering your body against the wall of stone and sliding one foot at a time. Even seasoned hikers like Ellie held their breath as they negotiated them. Praying folks swore that they got one step closer to Jesus as they crossed to the other side.
As she took in the view, she tried not to imagine what Shondra might be going through, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t shake the fear from her mind. She’d seen those whip marks on Courtney.
“He didn’t keep the other women long before he killed them,” she commented as they set off on the trail. “Yet Shondra has already been gone three days.”
Derrick adjusted his pack. “I know. It’s doesn’t fit his MO, does it? But we’re doing everything we can, Ellie.”
They lapsed into silence again as Cord got out. Dressed for the hike in insulated pants, a navy flannel shirt and North Face jacket, he grabbed his backpack from his trunk. Mud already caked his boots and dirt streaked his jacket as if he’d taken an early morning hike before meeting them. He threw the bag over his shoulder, and she thought she saw blood beneath his fingernails. Though with Derrick present, she decided not to probe. She’d learned that the hard way last time.
His deep scowl indicated he was about as happy to see Derrick with her as she was to be with both men. But this was about the job, so she asked Cord to lead the way. Derrick took the rear, staying close behind her and keeping up as they wove through the narrow paths carved between the giant oaks, pine trees and cypresses.
Although it was April now, the crisp mountain air was cool, especially under the shade of the canopy of trees, sending a shiver through Ellie.
Three miles in, Cord paused to take a sip of water, his throat muscles working as he swallowed. Derrick constantly scanned the woods, and Ellie did the same. If the perpetrator had already murdered another victim, he could be out here somewhere, looking for the perfect spot to dump the body.
The Weekday Killer’s message taunted her. Will you find her in time, Detective?
Forty-Three
Preacher’s Circle
Eula Ann Frampton sat in a rocking chair beside Preacher Ray, her gnarled hands clasped. The voices of the dead whispered in the old lady’s mind as the sun slipped behind a cloud.
Most folks around Bluff County thought she was crazy as a loon, and some were downright scared of her, even dragging their children to the other side of the street when they saw her coming, as if she was the bad witch in Hansel and Gretel.
Silly fools.
It all started with the rumor Meddlin’ Maude had started years ago. The gossipmongers jumped on Maude’s words, and the legend blew up from there, spreading through the town like wildfire.
Apparently, Eula killed her old man and buried him in their rose garden.
The Porch Sitters, what the prayer chain called themselves, gathered for weeks on different porches to pray for her lost soul.
While she did grow the prettiest blood-red roses in these parts, only she and Ernie knew what had happened. Dust to dust though. And a dead body did make for decent fertilizer.
Laughter bubbled in her throat as Preacher Ray handed her a cup of herbal tea, that he swore helped heal the soul. Although preachers weren’t supposed to swear, he’d had his own share of the rough life, and he made his own set of rules while living on the trail.
“Ms. Eula, you said you been hearing the spirits again?”
Eula tucked a strand of her wiry gray hair back into her bun, then sipped her tea. “Afraid so. You know I don’t ask for this,” she said. “They just come to me in the crevices of my mind. Unsettled and searching for some kind of peace or guidance.” Not that she could help. She had no control over heaven and earth or sin and sinner.
Not when she was one herself.
Preacher Ray patted her shoulder. “Only God can give them that,” he murmured. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Eula forced down the tea, wishing Ray had some honey or sugar. He swore it wasn’t bitter to him, just to those who needed cleansing.
Like everyone else, he wanted to know the truth about Ernie.
But even in death, he would never pry that from her cold, dead lips.
“I did. Happened just a little bit ago,” Eula said, the sound of the woman’s scream reverberating in her head. “She’s some place close by.”
A noise rustled outside, and Preacher Ray stood inside the shelter he’d built from the pines and hobbled toward the doorway. After a quick peek outside, he angled his head toward her. “A bunch of the Shadow People have come for my sermon.”
It was time for Eula to go. Even Preacher Ray’s sermons couldn’t save her. But maybe he’d pray for the young women this latest monster was after––even if it would soon be too late.
Forty-Four
Teardrop Falls
Derrick kept a close eye on Ranger McClain as they wove through the knee-high weeds. Perspiration trickled down the side of his face, and he waved mosquitoes and no-see ’ems away. He’d made an enemy of the ranger on the last case when he’d questioned him about his past, and the fact that he’d worked multiple Search and Rescue missions involving the missing children. McClain was intense, a loner, and had grown up in foster care. He also had a history in juvie and one of his foster fathers owned a mortuary.