“Jessica is about ten. I met her right over there.” I pointed where Ford had parked the first time. “She claimed Tammy was her big sister.”
“That’s not right.” Gayle shook her head. “Tam was an only child. Her parents died a few years back, and she came to live with Deric. He’s her second cousin. He’s all the family she’s got left now.”
Unease squirmed through my gut. “Jessica told me Tammy was about to turn eighteen, that she left because she was afraid Deric wanted to add her to his harem.”
Her laughter was a bright, sharp zing through the air. “Deric is hedonistic, but he would never lay a finger on that girl. All his partners are twenty-one years or older. They’re very much consenting adults.”
“The girl who introduced herself to me as Jessica went into a tent with other girls her age. Where are they? Can I talk to them?”
“The girls had a sleepover a few days ago. That must be when you saw them together. They jealously guard their private rituals from the boys and from outsiders. I’m amazed they would have included another child without a fuss.” She scanned the crowd. “Come on. I’ll take you to the heathens.”
Ford met my gaze, which was nice, considering he had been unwilling or unable to do so earlier, and I read my own concern reflected back at me.
Gayle led us to a tent that might have been the one I remembered seeing last time, but now there were only two cots, and one of them held a fuming preteen girl.
“Lyssa,” Gayle called, “can you come here a minute?”
“I’m grounded,” she snarled. “I can’t go anywhere but this dumb bed.”
With an attitude like that, I had to wonder what the little angel had done to get herself in trouble.
“Where’s your mom?” Gayle peered through the flap. “We have a guest who would like to speak to you.”
The girl slanted me a look, and her eyes widened. “I remember you.”
I checked with Gayle. “Okay to go ahead?”
“Sure, sure. I’ll stay so she’s not alone while she’s being questioned. Danica won’t mind.”
Danica must be the mom, but right now all that mattered was Lyssa. “Do you have any friends named Jessica?”
Her gaze slid around the room before touching on the exit. “No.”
The kid was lying, but calling them out never worked. “Do you know Tammy?”
“She’s nice. She paid me in French fries to braid her hair once.”
“Does Tammy have a younger sister?”
“No.” Lyssa scrunched up her face. “Deric is like her brother. Does that count?”
“Who was the girl you were playing with the day you saw me?”
She stuck out her leg, wiggled her toes. “Just a friend from next door.”
“Do you remember the last time you saw Tammy?”
“More than a week. I wanted to ask if she would buy me fries again, but I couldn’t find her.”
“What color is Tammy’s hair?”
“It’s yellow.” She glanced up, smiled. “It’s soft, and it smells so good.”
“What color hair does Jessica have?”
“Yellow,” she answered and then sucked in a breath.
“It’s okay.” I sat on the cot opposite hers. “You can talk to me about her. You won’t get in any trouble. I promise.” I leaned in closer and lowered my voice to a whisper. “I might even buy you fries if you help me find her.”
Lyssa licked her lips, but she held firm.
“Do you like chicken nuggets?” I rubbed my stomach. “I like barbeque sauce with mine.”
“I do too,” she gushed. “Mom says it’s too sugary, but I would bathe in it if she let me.”
The kid slapped her hands over her mouth, even though she hadn’t said anything incriminating.
“How about this?” I pretended to consider her. “I’ll have a chat with your mom. If she agrees, and you tell me everything you know about Jessica, I’ll buy you a gift card so you can have fries and nuggets every Friday for a whole month. Deal?”
To her credit, Lyssa didn’t rat out her friend immediately.
It took about ninety seconds.
“Jessica is weird,” Lyssa said haltingly, “but she had fries, so I didn’t mind playing with her.”
So far, other than the species of the victims, we had made no connections between them otherwise. The murders had pointed toward random acts of violence against female shifters. If the killer knew Lyssa, and likely her circle of friends, then it stood to reason he had stalked his victims. Fries were a generic bribe for girls in their age group, and living a more naturalistic life meant less access to processed foods, but still.
Lucky guess? Or careful research?
“Where is she from?” I asked carefully. “Did she say?”
“Her parents live in one of the trailers over there.” She pointed vaguely across the road. “She wanted to make friends with us, but she was so…weird.”
“How was she weird?”
“She wanted to play really dumb games like haircut, except she wouldn’t let us throw away the hair. She put the pieces in plastic bags and made us write our names on them.”
Not in years had I wanted to use my second favorite F word so much.
“Thanks, Lyssa.” I stood. “I have to go, but I’ll talk to your mom about our deal, okay?”
“Sure.” She made big eyes at me. “Do you think, since I helped you, and I heard you tell Deric you’re gonna be the potentate some day, you could maybe tell her I don’t need to be grounded anymore?”
Giving her a wink, I smiled. “I’ll try.”
Flopping on her back, she resumed counting the stitches in the peak over her head.
Gayle followed us out, and I put enough distance between us and Lyssa to ensure little ears didn’t hear big problems.
“Don’t let her or any other kid play in the woods without adult supervision. Don’t let them out of your sight. Make sure the women pair up, but groups would be better.”
“What’s going on?” Her hand returned to the top button of her dress. “What happened to Tammy?”
“Tammy was murdered,” I told her softly. “We believe a rogue warg killed her.”
“What does that have to do with the girls?”
The truth, that it appeared he had inherited enough of his mother’s magic to give him a knack for crafting charms, was classified information that would out Bonnie. Based on what Lyssa had told me and what I found in that backpack, I had no doubt the killer had used magic to appear as a girl to appeal to the girls. It gave me a bad feeling about where he got the lock of hair for Jessica.
The cell hadn’t been a gift from a concerned older sister. It had been a burner phone, a tripwire for me to stumble over. A concerned call from me would tip him off when the gig was up, and I fell for it. I had called, several times, clanging the frakking alarm bell until his ears must be ringing.
“That information is classified.” I hated I couldn’t give her more. “Trust me when I say those girls are in danger. They’ve had contact with a person of interest in multiple homicides, one who preys on women and girls.”