But as soon as he made it to the basement, his kindness and promises faded. Special care meant something different––something awful.
The old man grabbed Cord’s hand and pushed it toward the steel table where she lay. He’d already forced Cord to watch as he drained her blood and pumped her full of embalming fluid.
“Go ahead, touch her,” the old man said. “She doesn’t know what’s happening now and can’t fight you.”
The hair on the nape of Cord’s neck prickled as his fingers brushed the girl’s cheek.
The old man set out his tools and supplies. First the pancake makeup he would use to cover the scarring on her face. Then a bright red lipstick to match the color of nail polish he’d chosen. The blusher to bring some life to her cheeks. Then she’d be dressed––her mother had sent a soft red dress for her to wear and little black sandals.
“The mother wants an open casket,” he told Cord. “When we’re finished playing with her, we’ll make her pretty for her mama.”
Eighty-Eight
Before heading to Cord’s, Ellie called about her mother, hearing that her condition was the same.
Next, she phoned the captain and filled him in on everything that had happened. According to him, Angelica had already phoned wanting a statement, and he agreed to update Bryce and let him handle her.
Kennedy Sledge had also left another message, asking if she wanted to talk. But her emotions were too raw at the moment. She felt like she was unraveling, like the yarn in one of her old sweaters.
Pounding on the door to Cord’s house, Ellie noted it was dark inside. But it was always dark at his place. She had no idea why he refused to turn lights on, but the one time she’d spent the night with him, when she’d flipped them on, he had immediately turned them off. Only when she explained her phobia of the dark, and where it stemmed from, did he finally relent.
For a moment, she considered that he might not be home, but his truck was in the driveway. If he’d had a late call that kept him up all night, he could still be asleep.
She’d just turned to go when he opened the door, his shaggy mahogany hair and stubble adding a hint of danger to his rugged appearance. He was the most alpha male she’d ever met. Muscles strained the confines of his black t-shirt and the sweatpants that hung low on his lean hips.
He scrubbed a hand over his face, and she realized she’d woken him. “Ellie, what are you doing here?”
“Can we talk?”
His dark eyes contracted, then he stepped sideways for her to come in. “Holy crap, have you seen your face?”
Ellie traced a finger over the knot on her head. “Seen it and felt it.”
“What the hell happened?” He crossed to the kitchen, then started a pot of coffee brewing while Ellie quickly explained about Vinny Holcomb’s attack and Shondra’s blood being left on her door.
Cord’s fingers clenched the counter for a moment in a white-knuckled grip, drawing her attention to the scrapes and scratches on his hands, and his thumbs, which always seemed to be bruised. “Do you think he’s the Weekday Killer?” he finally asked.
“He’s violent and was mentally ill, but if he’s part of this, he didn’t do it alone. His violence was erratic. Our killer is a planner.”
His look hardened. “Let me wash my face. I’ll be right back.”
As he left the room, Ellie’s phone pinged. It was Heath again.
Just heard from the lab. Prints on Deputy Eastwood’s truck belong to Ranger McClain.
The words sucked the air from Ellie’s lungs. What? Why would Cord’s prints be on Shondra’s truck? There had to be an explanation.
By the time Cord returned, the coffee was ready, the air filled with the aromatic, nutty scent. He poured himself a cup and offered her one. Shaken from the text, she gladly took it and cradled the warm mug between her hands.
A quick glance around his family room, and she noted the taxidermy animals were missing. The bookshelf housing all its usual titles on nature, graveyard symbols and burial rituals was a mess, with books on their sides and askew. Her gaze was drawn to a closed door leading off the living space. She knew it didn’t lead to the bathroom or the bedroom, and Cord had never told her what was on the other side. She couldn’t remember ever having seen the door open.
For the second time, she wondered what was inside, what he didn’t want her to see.
Cord leaned his back against the kitchen counter and simply waited, with a guarded look.
“Why did you really come, Ellie?”
His words sounded like an accusation, a reminder that he was still on edge from the last case, when Derrick had questioned him. He wasn’t going to like her doing the same now, she knew that.
But it had to be done.
She relayed her conversation with the psychiatrist. “That leads me to dig deeper into the profile and look at his MO.”
“You’re talking about the wildflowers and the way he dresses them, as if he’s preparing their bodies for a funeral?” Cord asked through clenched teeth.
“It’s possible that he learned all of that online, but we have to consider the fact that he could have worked in the field, perhaps as a medical examiner, a mortician or funeral home director. Or he… grew up around that kind of work.”
Angry heat flared in Cord’s eyes. “That’s the reason you’re here? You think I had something to do with those women’s deaths?”
Ellie grimaced at the vehemence in his tone. “That’s not what I said.” She hesitated, knowing she was stepping into unwanted territory. “I know one of your foster fathers was Felix Finton and that he owned Finton’s Final Resting Home when you lived with him. What can you tell me about him?”
“You’ve been researching my background?”
Ellie released a slow breath. “It came up when the deputy was looking into the funeral home angle.” A tense heartbeat passed. “I’m sorry, but I have to ask.”
Cord’s throat muscles worked as he swallowed, then he spun away from her and dumped his coffee in the sink. “What can I tell you?” he said in a low but lethal tone. “I can tell you that you should stay away from him.”
“Why, Cord?” Ellie pressed. “Is he dangerous? Do you think he’s killing these women?”
“Not him,” he ground out. “He would be in his sixties by now.” Slowly he turned back toward her, his calm mask tacked in place, although the rigid set of his body suggested he was holding back.
“How about his son? He runs the funeral home now.” She couldn’t back down now. She had to push for the truth. “Did you know him, Cord?”
Cord’s grim look told her everything. “Yeah, he’s just as mean as his old man.”
Eighty-Nine
Dahlonega, Georgia
Derrick found Karl Little’s house on the outskirts of Dahlonega, where his family had lived all their lives.
Although Derrick’s mother had mourned her little girl for two decades, she felt some semblance of peace in the closure that they’d finally found, after so many years. She’d been able to bring her daughter home and give her a proper burial.