Sarah stared at her reflection in the clouded-with-age mirror. She looked old. Dark circles under her eyes from lack of sleep. Lines at the corners of those weary eyes. Maybe from all those years she’d spent trying to smoke herself to death. She was twenty-nine. She looked forty. And felt fifty. Thanks to her amazing childhood.
And the lack of sleep.
She twisted the knob and set the water temperature. Shoving her panties down her thighs, she wondered if Kale Conner would mind getting an early start. Say at one in the morning?
Not very likely.
She stepped into the claw-foot tub; the hot water felt good against her skin. She yanked the curtain around the tub and dropped her head back to enjoy the heat. Despite her intention to relax, images fromValerie Gerard’s crime scene flicked one after the other through her head. This was no random killing or sacrifice related to some curse. Valerie Gerard had been a target. The killer was someone who thought she was a liar. The stitched lips made it personal. The distinct message made it undeniable. A message specifically for Valerie.
At only nineteen, who had the girl pissed off that royally?
A freshman in college. Honor student. Award-winning high school student who had graduated valedictorian. President of the class. Et cetera, et cetera. No history of drug use or promiscuity.
Then there was Alicia Appleton. High school senior. Cheerleader. Miss Popular at school. Rich kid. Got a Range Rover for her sixteenth birthday. Had an iPhone and all the other cool gadgets teenagers loved. Won beauty pageants far and wide.
The kind of girl you loved to hate.
The two victims had nothing in common. Not friends. Not hobbies or goals. Not tax bracket. Nothing.
Same perp involved? Sarah’s gut said yes.
Could be a copycat in Alicia’s case. Since Alicia hadn’t gone missing until after Valerie’s body was found, it was possible someone had used the murder as an opportunity to get rid of someone he or she despised.
But, like Conner said, Youngstown was a small place where everyone knew everyone else. The likelihood that two killers could be lurking about was a stretch.
Not to mention that only two days separated the events.
Realistically, that element could shift Sarah’s theory either way.
Too early to tell.
Sarah shoved the dripping shower curtain aside and stepped out of the tub. When she’d dried her skin and hair sufficiently, she went in search of clothes. Going back to bed would be a waste of time. Any possibility of sleep was long gone. She did much of her best theorizing and deducing in the middle of the night. For years now she’d had one simple but firm motto: She could sleep when she was dead.
Jeans, heavy-duty wool socks, T-shirt, and hooded sweatshirt. Good to go. She shivered in spite of the thick clothing. Where was the thermostat in this joint?
She moved around the room but didn’t find one. Whatever. She pulled her ski cap on, figuring that would help since her hair was still a little damp.
The innkeeper evidently didn’t have a crappy room to give her, so he’d decided to freeze her out.
On the bed, she spread the notes and photos out around her. She hadn’t been able to get anything on the autopsies from twenty years ago. The files weren’t available, she’d been told before coming, and according to Deputy Brighton, they weren’t only not available, they had been destroyed. Those details she would at some point have to get from Chief Willard.
Valerie had been a pretty girl. Blond hair, blue eyes. A little plump but not fat by any means. Astigmatism forced her to wear prescription eyeglasses. Smart, obviously. No history of trouble of any sort. Sarah wondered if the girl had stuck with the glasses rather than going with contacts as a way of hiding from the social world she didn’t quite fit into.
Sarah considered the photo of the victim naked on that cold stone floor. Exposed, humiliated. Mouth sewn shut so she couldn’t lie anymore.
Why would a good girl with seemingly nothing to hide, lie?
Digging through the other documents, Sarah picked up the photo of Alicia Appleton. It was easy to get photos of just about anyone these days. Most had a social media account of some sort. Type the name in a search box and voilà. All sorts of images and personal information. Far too many of these kids didn’t set their profiles to private, allowing anyone who wanted to look to do so.
Sarah set the borrowed social media image of Alicia aside and studied the ones she had of Valerie. Sarah would bet a month’s salary that Valerie’s killer had known her personally. Maybe even gone to school with her at UMass.
It was possible that some psycho had focused his obsession on the girl. Picked her out of the crowd for no other reason than some aspect of her appearance.
But Sarah’s honed instincts were screaming otherwise.
“Who hated you so much, Valerie?”
Sarah stared at the photo from the ME’s office.
