“True. What’s his end goal? Killing? As a sort of revenge?”
“Possibly,” Gretchen said. “You never know with these guys. It would make sense. Or he kills them because they don’t live up to his ideal.”
They were silent for a moment while Josie mulled this over, comparing the two families, the two scenes, the two scenarios. Maxine and Haven had never had a chance. He’d been far less careful with Dani and Cassidy. Even though he hadn’t killed them in their home, he’d been sloppy. Approaching their house in broad daylight, carrying distinctive flowers, appearing on camera even if he didn’t show his face. He’d left fingerprints. DNA. It was entirely possible that he was having some kind of crisis that was causing him to decompensate rapidly. Or he’d simply felt more powerful after successfully killing Maxine and Haven, become more arrogant.
“The flowers must be part of recreating his fantasy,” Josie said. “His signature.”
“He brought the flowers to Dani’s house,” Gretchen said. “But he didn’t kill them. Not there. He took them.”
Dani had had the advantage of being awake and aware. She would have tried to talk with him, reason with him. Anyone whose adrenal response didn’t cause them to freeze completely would likely try to negotiate.
“She told him they’d do whatever he wanted,” Josie murmured.
“Makes sense,” Gretchen agreed. “Risky but smart, especially since he had a gun. Buy time. Stay alive. Keep your daughter alive, at any rate.”
“Since he’s using them to recreate his family,” said Josie, “he took them instead of killing them.”
“And as soon as he realizes that they’re not his ideal, he’ll kill them just like he did Maxine and Haven.”
Josie cursed. It had been four days. How long could Dani and Cassidy keep up the twisted charade before he lost patience or could no longer resist the urge to kill? How in the hell were they going to find them in time?
“This guy’s been looking for his perfect pair for a while,” she said. “Which means that Maxine Barnes’s stalker was real.”
“Yes,” Gretchen agreed.
Maxine’s erratic behavior had started a matter of months before she was fired from her job. The recollections of her friends and coworkers would be relatively fresh. It made sense to focus on Maxine Barnes’s friends and family members since their other leads had gone nowhere.
Maxine’s best friend, Angela Lewis, was at the top of that list.
THIRTY-TWO
As Josie and Gretchen stepped into the busy salon in the commercial area of central Denton, heat and the strong smell of chemicals hit them like a gust of wind. The place was still cooler than the suffocating July air outside, but not by much. A sleek black reception desk separated the small waiting area from the long row of chairs beyond. Josie counted a half-dozen stylists in various stages of their work. Some were cutting, some were blow-drying. Others painted dye over thin strands of hair plastered to squares of foil. Near the back was a washing station with four sinks. Two were occupied by women in black capes, their heads tipped back as salon workers massaged their scalps.
There was a hum of chatter that nearly drowned out the music being piped in overhead. No one turned to look at them. Only the receptionist greeted them, her perky smile faltering when she saw their drab work clothes and the pistols at their waists.
“We’re here to see Angela Lewis,” Gretchen told her. “She’s expecting us.”
As the receptionist led them down the center of the room, Josie felt the curious eyes of both customers and stylists. As they were waved into a private office, she heard the first murmuredquestion from one of them. “Do you think they’re here about that mom and her daughter?”
The receptionist shut the door as she left, enclosing them in a room that was half office, half supply room. It was blessedly quiet. Angela Lewis stood on a tiny stool, her sandaled feet straining to keep balance as she reached overhead to the top shelf, hand slapping around for something. She was all in black from her fitted T-shirt to her leggings and the apron wrapped around her body. Brown curls framed her face. Her hand closed around something. “Got it!” she said triumphantly.
With a huff, she righted herself and hopped off the stool, tucking a tube of some sort into her apron. “Sorry about that.”
They made their introductions. Angela offered them a seat in one of the three reception chairs near her desk, but they declined. “Well, I’m gonna sit,” she said. “If you don’t mind. I’ve been on my feet all day. To be honest, I haven’t slept much since I got the news about Maxi and Haven.”
“We’re sorry for your loss,” Josie said.
Angela settled behind her desk and plucked a tissue from the box next to her laptop, dabbing at her eyes. “Thank you. I appreciate that. It’s been really tough. Charles isn’t being very forthcoming. He always hated me though, so I guess it shouldn’t surprise me.”
“What did he tell you?” Gretchen asked.
She held the tissue to her right eye for a few seconds before transferring it to her left eye. “He told me they were murdered,” her voice squeaked, “but that’s about it.”
“That’s true,” Josie said. “I’m sorry that we can’t tell you more, but the investigation is ongoing.”
Angela nodded, more tears tracking down her face. “How can I help?”
“Let’s start at the beginning,” Gretchen said. “How long did you know Maxine?”
