Tess had lost her future because of her.
Tears blurred her eyes. Some days she made it through without succumbing to the overwhelming anguish. Other days, the grief came out of nowhere and hit her so hard it stole her breath.
It was the little things that triggered the memories and made her choke up with emotions and regret. Tess’s favorite ice cream was mint chocolate chip. On her birthday, Ginny ordered a cone of it to honor Tess, but halfway through she’d started bawling like a baby. Another time she’d heard her sister’s favorite song in a coffee shop, and she’d had to leave.
She swiped at the tears and forced herself to focus on her mission. Hopefully Griffin Maverick would call her.
If not, she’d find another way to see if the death of the woman in the nail-salon fire was connected to Robert.
She settled her suitcase on the luggage rack, then set her laptop on the desk. Her muscles ached from tension and tossing and turning all night. The dead woman’s face taunted her in her sleep. Joy looked so much like she had three years ago that Ginny felt like she was looking in the mirror.
If she’d never gotten involved with Robert, Tess would still be alive.
And if she’d stopped Robert a long time ago, he couldn’t have hurt anyone else, like Joy.
She grabbed a bottle of water from the gift basket on the corner table, uncapped it and took a long drink as she sank into the chair and booted up her computer.
This trip to Whistler might not turn up anything on Robert. Joy Norris’s murder might be unrelated to Tess’s.
But that picture, Joy’s looks... She had to know for sure if she was another victim of Robert’s.
She spent the next hour combing the internet for pictures or any mention of Robert Bouldercrest. She checked local news reports and social media, trolling through random photographs people had posted.
But she found nothing.
Determined to explore every avenue, she decided to search online dating sites again. She’d met Robert on a site called Meet Your Mate and went there first in case he stuck to a pattern.
She created a new profile under the name June Embers and found a stock photo to use. She answered the questions in a similar vein as she had when she’d created her first profile.
If Robert had been attracted to quiet, shy journalism student Reese Taggart who lived alone and had just lost her mother, he might fall for bookstore owner June who’d grown up in foster care and wanted to get married and make a family of her own. She posted the profile, then added it to several other dating and singles sites.
Robert liked playing the savior, the knight riding in to save the lonely damsel. Like June.
And he had been chivalrous. Affectionate. Romantic.
Until he’d turned into a monster.
* * *
THREE HOURS LATER, Griff rolled from bed, still foggy from sleep. He felt as if he was in a phantasmagoric state, where real images and imagined ones blurred together. Had he been so exhausted he’d dreamed that beautiful woman had shown up at his door this morning?
His phone dinged with a text as he stumbled into the kitchen. Jacob.
One p.m. Meet at ME’s office for results of Joy Norris’s autopsy.
Griff sent a return text: See you there.
He started past the breakfast island to make coffee when he spotted the business card Ginny had left. So, he hadn’t imagined her.
He filled the coffee carafe with water and poured it into the coffee maker, inserted a filter filled with his favorite ground beans, then punched the start button. While the rich, dark coffee brewed, he picked up the card, turned it over between his fingers and studied it. Simple office stationery. Classic design.
The name Virginia (Ginny) Bagwell was scrawled in italics with the title investigative journalist printed below her name along with a phone number and address in Asheville.
He tapped the card between his fingers, his curiosity piqued. How had she gotten that scar? Why was this story important enough to travel to Whistler and knock on his door?
His pulse jumped as a random thought struck him. Could she possibly know something about the fire from five years ago?
The scar...could she have been at the hospital that day?
Chapter Three
The scent of chicory filled the air, and Griff poured himself a cup of coffee, carried it to his computer then sat down and retrieved the file he, Jacob, Liam and Fletch had compiled over the past five years. He plugged in the name Virginia (Ginny) Bagwell and ran a search to see if her name was listed as one of the victims in the Whistler Hospital fire, or if she’d lived in town at the time.
Nothing popped.
Even more curious than before, he snagged his cell phone and pressed the number on the business card. He had a couple of hours before meeting the ME and Jacob.
She answered on the third ring. “Hi. I didn’t know if you’d call, Mr. Maverick.”
He hadn’t known if he would either.
“It’s Griff. I can do a late breakfast at eleven at Mitzi’s Café in the town square.” The young woman had just opened, and he’d heard the food was good. She was not only attractive, but she made a mean stack of hotcakes with fresh blueberries and cream. He did have a sweet tooth.
“I’ll be there.”
He hung up, then headed to the shower. While she probed him for information about arsonists, he’d find out what she was hiding.
* * *
GINNY CHECKED TO make sure her auburn roots weren’t bleeding through before walking to the café. Outside, the sun was battling its way through dark clouds that hinted at rain, and the wind tossed debris through the air.
She checked over her shoulder a dozen times, keeping a lookout as she crossed the street and bypassed the mercantile and arts-and-crafts store.
Hunching her shoulders against the wind, she hurried past a dark gray SUV, averting her face until she reached the awning of The Brew, the coffee shop on the corner. She ducked beneath it, slipping into the shadows, then pulled her binoculars and aimed them at the vehicle.
Was Robert inside?
She hovered there for several seconds, watching. Finally, the man opened the door and stepped from the SUV.
Not Robert. This man was heavyset, bearded, with graying hair.
Relief surged through her, and she rushed down the sidewalk to the café.
Mitzi’s looked like a throwback to the Wild West with its saloon door and red-checked tablecloths. Country music wafted through the speakers, and the sound of voices, laughter and dishes clanging filled the dining area.
She stopped at the hostess stand and told the young girl she was meeting someone, then asked for the booth in the rear. She always faced the door, never put her back to an entry point. She also scanned the room for a rear exit in case she needed to make a hasty escape.