He could pretend she was still here.
He could pretend he wasn't alone.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The whiteboard in the conference room had become a graveyard of connections.
Isla stood before it with a dry-erase marker in hand, staring at the web of lines she'd drawn between Monica Hayes and Amanda Pierce.Two photographs anchored the center—their faces smiling out from official headshots, unaware of the terrible fate that awaited them.Around each photo, Isla had mapped the details of their lives: addresses, workplaces, social circles, habits.The lines connecting them were few.Too few.
"Different neighborhoods," James said from behind her, reading from his laptop."Hayes lived in Lincoln Park, and Pierce was in Piedmont Heights.About four miles apart."
"Different banks, different grocery stores, different churches," Isla added another note to the board."Monica was single, Amanda had a long-term boyfriend who's been out of town for two weeks—already verified his alibi.Monica owned her own business, and Amanda worked for the school district."
"Different social circles entirely."
"Entirely."Isla capped the marker and turned to face her partner."Two women who lived in the same city for years and, by all accounts, never crossed paths.No mutual friends on social media, no shared professional connections, nothing."
James scrolled through something on his screen."What about the yoga studio?You mentioned Amanda took classes at Serenity Yoga."
"Monday nights.Her roommate confirmed it was her regular routine."Isla reached for the folder of interview notes Fritz had compiled."But Monica Hayes—I didn't see any connection to yoga in her background."
"Let me check."James typed for a moment, pulling up the records they'd subpoenaed from Monica's credit card company."Hayes...Hayes...Here.Serenity Yoga Studio.She made a payment three weeks ago."
Isla felt something shift in her chest—that familiar click of puzzle pieces sliding into place."She was a member?"
"Looks like a drop-in class.Single payment, twenty dollars."James turned his laptop so she could see the transaction."January 23rd."
"That's about two weeks before she died."Isla grabbed the marker again and drew a thick line between the two photographs, writing SERENITY YOGA in bold letters along its length."Different neighborhoods, different jobs, different social circles—but they both walked through the same door."
"It could still be coincidence.Half the women in Duluth probably take yoga somewhere."
"Maybe.But it's the first concrete overlap we've found."Isla was already reaching for her phone."We need the studio's membership records.Class schedules, sign-in sheets, anything that shows who else was there when both women attended."
"I'll call Fritz, have him coordinate with the studio owner."James stood, already dialing."What are you thinking—another student?Someone who spotted them both?"
"Or someone who works there."Isla pulled up the studio's website on her computer, scrolling through the sparse information available.Serenity Yoga Studio, established 2019.Classes offered seven days a week.Specializing in mindfulness and stress relief."The studio would be the perfect hunting ground.Women coming in regularly, wearing fitted clothing, signing in with their names and contact information.If the killer had access to that membership database..."
"He'd have a catalog of potential victims."
The thought sat between them, ugly and accurate.Isla navigated to the staff page and found two faces staring back at her.Greta Lindholm, owner and lead instructor—a wispy woman in her sixties with silver hair and kind eyes.And beneath her, a younger face.
Nathan Cross.Instructor, specializing in beginner and intermediate flow classes.
Isla studied the photograph.He was in his late thirties, maybe early forties, with the kind of lean, sculpted build that suggested someone who practiced what he preached.Dark hair, strong jaw, eyes that crinkled slightly at the corners in what might have been a smile or might have been something else entirely.The bio beneath his photo was sparse: "Nathan brings fifteen years of yoga experience and a passion for helping students find their inner strength."
"James."She turned her monitor toward him as he ended his call with Fritz."The studio has two instructors.Greta Lindholm and Nathan Cross."
James leaned in to look at the screen."Cross.Fritz mentioned that name.He's the one who teaches the Monday evening class."
"Amanda's class."
"Right."James's expression sharpened."And he'd have access to the membership records.Would know which women fit a certain profile, when they'd be coming in, what their routines were."
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves."Isla forced herself to slow down, to remember Miami and the rush to judgment that had cost Alicia Mendez her life."Right now all we have is a yoga studio that both victims attended.That's not enough to make Cross a suspect."
"But it's enough to make him a person of interest."
"Agreed.We need to talk to him—but carefully.If he is involved, we don't want to spook him.And if he's not, we don't want to destroy an innocent man's reputation."She pulled up the studio's class schedule."He's got an eleven o'clock class this morning.That gives us about an hour to do some background work."
