Page 57 of Chasing Creed

“So, the only person who might know who she is, and that she was found, would be the killer.”

“Or the person who deposited the body in the lake.” His eyes met hers over the frame of his glasses. “I think we can safely rule out a prankster.”

He scooted his chair closer to the table and put his index finger where Maggie’s had been. He pushed his reading glasses up. His finger stayed on the same line as Chalco and slid back and forth as if trying to confirm. The grid was hand-drawn and hastily, so the lines were slanted. Blue ink smudged at the corners.

Then Pakula brought his phone out again and punched a number from his contacts. While Pakula gave someone the names and details, Maggie leaned in closer to take a look at the rest of the list.

There were five Charlottes listed, but the numbers were not one through five. In fact, the first number was two then four, seven, eight and six.

She recognized another PLS. “Wanahoo” had to be Lake Wanahoo. During that scavenger hunt that Elijah Dunn had taken Maggie and Ryder on, they’d found a body at the bottom of the lake. She scanned across to the next column and DOE coincided with Elijah’s book of the dead. The original name matched, too.

Elijah had been dead for over a year now. Yet someone, including the killer of yesterday’s victim, had this list.

Then she noticed something else.

She brought her beer glass down too hard with a thump on the table. Her chair screeched on the tile as she brought it closer. She stopped herself and glanced around. No one else in the busy restaurant seemed to notice, thanks to the mariachi band’s blaring trumpets. Except Pakula noticed. He’d finished his phone call.

“What is it?” he asked in almost a whisper, his eyes roving over the paper searching for himself.

“I thought it might be someone simply using Elijah’s victims’ list. Lake Wanahoo. Kristel Unger. Remember? We found her over a year ago. But look at the other dates.”

Pakula pushed up his glasses. “They’re all within the last month, including yesterday. Wait, a minute. One of these happened today?”

“Someone’s in a hurry. Iris goes on trial soon.” She waited for his eyes to meet hers. “I think he’s eliminating the rest of the Charlottes.”

38

Nebraska

The night was darker than Sara had hoped. Out in the middle of pastures and woods, only the moon lit her way. Except the moon kept deserting her, slipping in and out from behind the clouds.

Her body was damp with sweat, and though she had dressed for it, the cold slid in under her collar and into her boots. The chill in the air promised more snow. A godsend, really. It would cover her tracks, but she hoped it would at least wait until she got back to her truck.

Her eyes adjusted. Her feet knew the paths between the trees and over rutted pastures. She took a shortcut across a cornfield. The snow-covered stubs of harvested cornstalks kept tripping her until she finally found the ditches between the rows. Only once did she fall. A broken barbed-wire fence hidden in the snow grabbed and tangled her ankle, sending her sprawling. Immediately and without warning, that old feeling of being trapped bounced up inside her.

She tamped down the panic.

Steady, slow, calm.

On her feet again. It was taking longer than she expected. The old turnout hidden alongside a grove of walnut trees had to be close by. She’d parked the truck just out of sight, off a dirt road on the outskirts of town. With the snow covering everything, maybe she’d lost sight of the landmarks she depended on.

Then she heard the yip-yip of coyotes. A new chill slid down her back. One was a lonesome sound. But a pack?

Ever since she was a little girl, that primitive howl frightened her. Iris had told her that the wild animals would rip her to shreds if she dared to leave at night. It was a ruse, of course, used against an imaginative and vulnerable little girl. And Sara felt a bit embarrassed that just the sound could bring back that same panic.

Instinctively, she dug into her jacket pocket, finding the revolver. Her hand wrapped around the grip. That’s how she walked the rest of the way. She slowed down so she could scan her surroundings, expecting to see glowing red eyes following her. Hunting her.

Finally, she saw the back of her truck through the trees.

The walk had taken her almost an hour. The drive back to Granny El’s took her only fifteen minutes. Adrenaline spent, she should have at least felt relief. But when she opened the truck door, she saw the blood on her sleeve.

Nothing was ever as simple as it should be.

She wanted to claw the jacket off her body. She wanted to block the memory of Rachel’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

Instead, she sat back in the driver’s seat. Here, inside the barn’s breezeway, she knew she was finally safe. She closed her eyes. Focused on her breathing. Waited for her mind to clear. Back and forth flashes of warm, fresh bread with melted butter. Then finally, she could shift to the taste of sweet mulberry jam and the vision of Granny El standing by the kitchen counter. She could hear her voice encouraging her.

“Go ahead, Sara. Pour it slowly. That’s right. Leave some room at the top of the jar so it’ll seal. Good job!”