Page 64 of Forever Dark
He pushed a hand over the back of his neck, then let it fall.“Yeah.This is my county.It’s my responsibility.”There’s was no posturing in the way he said it.Just a sheriff doing his duty.A feeling of admiration swelled from somewhere deep down inside of Selena.A place that was locked tight long ago.
“Sure thing,” Selena said.
He headed for the door, pausing only long enough to take Lauren’s printout from the board.
As he left, Selena watched him go and felt something uncomfortable and honest move through her.Respect, certainly.Something adjacent to sorrow, too.He had become a man people could lean on.A far cry from the wild young husband who once tried to race a thunderstorm home from the county fair just to prove he could beat it.
When the door shut behind him, Selena turned back to the screen.
If Lauren had been reaching for faith, then perhaps Brenda Colter had, too.If that was the case… then the church scenes were not random.Neither were the accusations painted on the walls.The killer was choosing women who had drifted near religion and then deciding something about them.Judging, perhaps.Purifying, if her reading of the verse at St.Bartholomew’s had been right.But Selena had to find evidence that Brenda had been doing a similar sort of searching before she could be sure of that.
She packed up the laptop, slid the charger into her bag, and headed back out to reception.
Cheryl looked up as she approached.
“Done already?I guess the FBI don’t work the hours county does.”
Selena stopped.She turned.“Cheryl.Whatever this is.This thing you have going where you’re needling me with these little remarks.Drop it, honey.Okay?I’m no threat to you.And anyway, I’m not quitting for the day.Still working, just like you.”
Cheryl stared at her, and for the first time she looked embarrassed, like a kid getting caught stealing candy.
“I need the keys to Brenda Colter’s home,” Selena said.
Cheryl’s eyes flickered and then she said, “Of course.It’s in evidence.Hold on.”She left reception and then moments later returned with a tagged evidence envelope with a single key inside.“You think there’s something there we missed?”
“I hope so.”
Cheryl handed it over.“It’s good you’re thorough.Arnold gave the place a once-over already, but between you and me, he sometimes misses things.”
Selena closed her hand around the key, feeling like Cheryl was trying to back off.“Thanks, Cheryl.”
She turned and headed for the door.
Outside, the morning had brightened fully over the lot.Her rental sat where she had left it, sun catching the windshield.Brenda’s house waited somewhere beyond town, quiet now, holding whatever it still held.
Selena unlocked the car and got in, already wondering what she would find.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Brenda Colter’s house stood at the end of a short red-bricked drive with a dead planter by the step and a porch light that had been left on in daylight.
Selena killed the engine and sat for a moment with the key in her hand.
From the outside, the place looked too ordinary for what had happened to the owner.White siding gone dull with weather.Brown shutters needing paint.A plastic chair tilted near the wall as if Brenda had meant to sit out there one evening and never got around to it.
Selena got out, mounted the steps, put on a pair of blue forensics gloves, and unlocked the door.
The house held the stale stillness of shut windows and routine interrupted.Coffee, laundry powder, old upholstery.A television remote lay on the arm of the couch.A throw blanket had slipped half to the floor.Beside the lamp sat three magazines fanned out on a side table, and a candle that had burned low enough to show Brenda had used it sparingly, stretching the last inch of wax.
Selena closed the door behind her and let her eyes adjust.
Living room.Kitchen.Short hallway.Bedroom and bath.
Small place.But Selena had learned that small places could hold big secrets.
She started with the living room because it sat nearest.A search done properly had discipline to it.Drawers first.Surfaces next.Then shelves, containers, pockets, frames.Nothing got skipped because it looked harmless.
The side tables gave her a broken compact, two gas-station receipts, aspirin, a lighter, gum, and a coupon booklet.The television stand held more of the same.A few paperback thrillers sat on the low bookshelf with creased spines and cracked covers, read more than once.Cookbooks beside them, the cheap spiral-bound sort from church fundraisers and local women’s groups.One framed photograph showed Brenda smiling beside Gus Farley on his porch.Brenda’s head tilted toward him.Gus looked as though he would rather be snoozing than posing for a camera.
