Angelica Gomez stood with the sheriff, giving her usual lead-in. “Folks, four women have died at the hands of the Weekday Killer so far, and he’s still out there hunting.”
“She’s stirring panic,” Derrick said, his jaw clenched.
“She’s just reporting the truth,” Ellie replied. “Those people lost loved ones, young women with their lives ahead of them, all because of me. And I haven’t done a damn thing to stop him.”
“Those people lost their loved ones because a crazed psycho is murdering women, Ellie. The blame goes on him, not you.”
Ellie shook her head. Logically that was true, but the killer targeted her with his messages for a reason. He took her friend for a reason too.
“Sheriff Waters, do you have an update on the Weekday Killer investigation?”
Ellie knotted her hands in her laps as Bryce addressed the mic. “Yes, I do.” One by one, he put a name to the women’s faces as photographs appeared on the screen.
“Do you have a suspect?” Angelica asked.
“At the moment, we are working several theories and have two persons of interest. But we can use your help out there, folks. This killer is leaving his victims on the Appalachian Trail in a ritualistic manner. If you have any idea who he is or see anyone suspicious in town or while hiking or camping, please call the sheriff’s office immediately.”
As Bryce started to walk away, Angelica stopped him. “One more thing, Sheriff. I received a copy of this sketch with information that this woman is wanted for questioning in the murders. Can you tell us more about her?”
A muscle in Bryce’s cheek twitched, and Ellie realized he would have her head for not informing him first. “I have no statement regarding her at this time.”
Fury snapped in his eyes as he clicked his boots and turned and strode back into the sheriff’s office.
“He’s pissed,” Derrick muttered.
Let him be.
Just then, Ellie’s phone dinged and she stared at the screen in horror. It was a picture of Shondra, deathly pale, her ebony hair spread across her shoulders as she lay on a bed of daffodils in a grove of cypress trees, bramble wrapped around her throat.
One Hundred Twelve
Derrick’s gut clenched. “What’s wrong?”
“I just got this.” Ellie’s hand trembled as she lifted her phone, but it slid from her hand and hit the floor.
He wanted to reach for her but grabbed the phone, looking at it first. With Vinny dead and ruled out as a suspect, Finton could be the killer.
His stomach plummeted when he saw the photo––they were too late for the deputy.
Pressing her fist to her mouth, Ellie stifled a sob. Unable to stop himself, Derrick wrapped his arms around her. She trembled, clutching his shirt and crying into his chest. They sat like that for several minutes, absorbing the news and settling into the shock.
Ellie didn’t deserve to be tormented like this. She was estranged from her family and guilt-ridden over all the girls’ deaths. Her family was torn apart and she might lose her mother. And now Shondra, her friend. Anger took root in his soul.
“Poor Shondra,” Ellie murmured. “And Melissa. Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God. How am I going to tell her?”
“We aren’t telling her anything yet.” Derrick studied the picture while Ellie lifted her head and wiped at her eyes. “I know it’s difficult to look at, but can you tell where this is?”
Her erratic breathing punctuated the air as she struggled to pull herself together. Finally, she gripped the phone with quivering fingers, narrowing her eyes as she analyzed the scene.
“Do you recognize any landmarks?” Derrick asked.
Wiping at her eyes, Ellie took a closer look. “Those cypress trees. They seem familiar.”
“Keep thinking about it,” he said. “My partner just texted that Finton’s truck was spotted. I’m going to track him down.”
Ellie eased away from him and stood, looking at Kennedy Sledge as if debating what to do.
Derrick shook his head. “Stay here with her. She might be the answer to all this, Ellie.”
“I have an idea,” Ellie replied. “Why don’t we release information that we found a surviving victim?”
“Then he might come after her.”
“Exactly,” Ellie said. “I can take her place and wait and when he comes after her, grab him.”
“No, Ellie, that’s too dangerous,” Derrick replied, his eyes darkening.
“But it might work,” Ellie argued.
“I am not letting you use yourself as bait,” he said. “Look what happened last time you pulled that stunt. You were almost buried alive. Stay here and don’t do anything stupid, like going off on your own.”
Ellie lifted a brow in challenge.
“I mean it, Ellie. I’ll call a guard for Ms. Sledge’s room. For both of you.”
His gut was screaming at him––Ellie might be the killer’s next target.
One Hundred Thirteen
Rose Hill
Eula Ann clamped her hands over her ears to drown out the sobs of the latest young women who’d died. Terrible, gut wrenching wails that cut through the air like knives cracking glass.
Just like the little girls, the victims of the Weekday Killer were finding their way among the dead. Trapped between two worlds where peace could not be found, they huddled together, writhing in pain and shock.
In her mind, she saw the blood trickling down pale, slender throats, mouths opened in screams of horror, eyes flashing with the lives they were meant to have, the lives that were stolen from them.
Yes, some were sinners. Yet weren’t we all?
She knew all about sinning herself. About crossing the line and keeping secrets.
Out on the mountain, she saw the clouds darkening and rumbling across the skies. The creek was overflowing and the trail was due for more bad weather, tornadoes closing in.
Cold air and hot air melded together, blending with the anger of the Gods, funnel clouds forming. Gray skies and bare trees that should be blooming by now cast a gloom over the wilderness.
A killer roamed the mountains. Sometimes, in her mind, she heard his feet snapping tree limbs and twigs as he dragged a body through woods and ridges. One night she heard the slosh of creek water on the bank as he tromped through it.
She stared out into the forest, willing God to let her see his face. To hear his voice. To recognize the killer among them.
But she saw nothing. God’s punishment to her for her sins.
So be it. She’d long accepted her fate.
Once again, Ellie Reeves was steeped in the investigation. Trouble and death seemed to follow that girl everywhere, and Eula felt a strong connection to her.
She knotted her gnarled fingers together as yellow daffodil petals floated in the air toward her like little drops of honey in the wind––except these petals symbolized nothing but death. A cluster landed on her rose bushes, the bright sunny yellow contrasting with the blood-red roses.
A sign of evil. An evil that she feared would get Ellie Reeves in the end.
One Hundred Fourteen
Bluff County Jail