I had no clue what to say to that, to be honest.
“You never said where they are,” I grumbled.
“Well…” Shane hesitated. “We’re at the police station because Heather Trudell wanted to press charges.”
I groaned at the reporter’s name.
“I’m here,” I grumbled as I stood up.
Schultz, Easton and the chief all followed me outside, having heard quite a bit of the conversation since about halfway through, I’d put it on speaker for them to hear.
The chief was laughing quietly as he followed behind.
I, on the other hand, didn’t find it nearly as funny.
Mostly because I knew without a shadow of a doubt that it hadn’t been Fran’s idea.
It’d likely been Mavis’s.
I found out exactly whose idea it was two seconds later when I arrived outside to hear Murphy yelling at Mavis.
“You have a fucking kid, Mavis. You can’t just go getting arrested and expect to keep your job,” Murphy growled.
“Well,” Mavis snarled right back. “I was just having my sister’s back. Since, you know, that fucking whore right there,” she pointed at Heather Trudell, “decided to plaster my sister’s face, her goddamn home address, and her motherfuckin’ business in the damn paper all because she’s a little twat who thinks that she can ruin people’s lives! And, let’s not forget, it’s not going to just annoy her. It’s got Fran’s freakin’ head on a platter sitting directly in front of a serial killer that’s killing people that look exactly like her!”
“Fuck,” I hissed.
Fran’s eyes turned to me, and I realized my mistake. I’d been kicking the clues around in my head and trying to put my finger on the connection between all of the women. The part that I couldn’t quite lock onto fell into place.
Every single one of the deceased women of this serial killer did, in fact, look exactly like Fran. Not in skin color or hair color, but in eye color, bone structure—all small, compact, and athletic looking—and each had very curly hair. The type of curly hair that required some sort of taming stuff be put in their hair or it’d go wild.
I looked at Fran, then looked at Schultz, followed by Easton, who were tilting their heads in understanding.
“Who does your hair, Fran?” I asked, a thought occurring to me.
“Umm,” she hesitated. “A new girl in town. She specializes in hair like mine. Actually, she owns a traveling hair salon. She services three states. Makes a shit ton of money doing it, too.”
My mind locked onto the link like it was wildfire, all the tiny little pieces adding up until only one thought occurred.
“What’s her name?” I wondered.
“Why do you need to know her name?” Heather asked.
Mavis whipped her head around and glared. “Why the fuck are you here?”
“I want to make sure that you’re penalized for vandalizing my car,” Heather snarled. “I have to take that to a dealership in Austin now because they’re the only ones that service them!”
Murphy snorted. “Bring it to my shop and I’ll get it fixed for you in an hour.”
“I’m not bringing it to a shop that has the likes of you working it.” She rolled her eyes.
“I’ll have you know that Murphy’s shop is a pristine business. The only thing that could make it even remotely bad is to have your taint, both figuratively and literally, walking into its doors,” Mavis sneered.
“Is that really a way to talk around your son?” she asked. “Who is the father, anyway? Him? Is that why y’all hate each other? Because you got pregnant on purpose?”
She gave Murphy a pitying look, as if she felt sorry for him.
Murphy narrowed his eyes, however, and said, “I’ll pay for any damages that incurred. And I’ll fix it for free.”
“Whatever. Protect the little bitch. It’s not like you have any taste, obviously,” Heather hissed. “Now, back to this…” She waved her hand at me, but Vlad started to cry, catching her attention. “Can’t you get that thing to shut up?”
Francine’s back stiffened, and before any of us could move, Mavis shot forward and planted her fist right into Heather’s nose.
Heather dropped like a freakin’ weighted-down barbell. Hit the ground with a resounding clang, and then went still.
“Who the hell taught you to throw a punch?” Schultz asked as he walked over to where Heather was down on the ground and stared at her.
Mavis shook out her hand and hissed. “Murphy did. When we were twelve.”
My brows went up at Murphy. Murphy shrugged.
Apparently, answering me wasn’t going to be something he did today.
“I don’t even know what to say,” Chief Wilkerson groaned. “This is a massive shitterfuck.”
“What is a shitterfuck?” Mavis asked Murphy as she shook out her hand.
Murphy gently wrapped his hand around Mavis’s and brought her closer to him. “Get your kid and let’s go.”
Fran handed Vlad over and the three of them left without a backward glance.
Chief Wilkerson didn’t even stop them.
Heather woke up and groaned. “I want to file charges!”
Fran walked over and then leaned over her. “No judge is going to begrudge me a hit when you put me in the line of sight of a serial killer.”
“You didn’t hit me. Your sister did!” she whined, pressing her hands to her nose. “I could’ve choked on my own blood.”
“I hit you,” Fran lied. “And I’m a nurse. I would’ve known if you were in peril.”
“You were fired from the hospital for a medication error that almost killed someone,” Heather said, pressing her hands to her nose as she rolled over and stood in the next instant.
“Actually,” a cultured, distinguished voice said from the front doors. “She wasn’t fired. She left. And it was found out later that another nurse was responsible for that medication draw up. Not only was Francine given the medication to administer, but it was also double-checked by another nurse before it was given to my granddaughter to administer. Now, let’s discuss how you put my Francine in the crosshairs of a serial killer because you were upset with the officers for blowing you off.”
Fran stiffened.
I looked to the door to see an elderly woman making her way inside.
She was dressed immaculately and looked as if she were stepping out to meet with the Queen of England, and not into the Paris police station.
Pearl Pope.
Francine stepped back until she was hidden behind me, and I would’ve laughed had Pearl Pope’s eyes not caught on the movement.
Her eyes were like sharply-honed laser beams.
“Francine Pope,” Pearl snapped, “I’ve been calling you all day long.”
Heather started to snicker.
Which was the worst mistake ever.
“Heather Trudell,” Pearl enunciated perfectly. “I need some privacy, since it’s more than obvious that you can’t keep anything to yourself.”
“Burn,” Schultz whispered under his breath.
Pearl’s eyes went to him. “Mr. Schultz. Please escort her out. And remind her, that if she wants to press charges against a Pope, she better have a damn good lawyer. I have the money to blow. She does not.” Pearl’s eyes went to Heather.