chapter Six
It was four o’clock in the afternoon when Amberly decided to call it quits and head for home. She had arrived at the sheriff’s office before seven that morning and had spent most of the day in the conference room. It had been a stressful day, first dealing with the details of the latest murder and second with the awkwardness that had somehow sprung up between her and Cole since they’d gotten up that morning.
“I’m going home,” she said as she got up from the conference table where they had spent most of the afternoon. “I need to check in on my normal life and get away from all this for a few hours.”
Cole rose, as well. “I don’t blame you. You’ve definitely been putting in the overtime.”
“So have you, and I know you won’t be stopping work while I’m gone, but I’ll be back in the morning, and you can catch me up.”
Together they walked down the hallway and out the front door of the station house. “I’m sorry if I was initially an ass to you,” he said, surprising her. “I appreciate your help and your insights into this case. I was just angry that the mayor decided to contact the FBI before he spoke to me about doing it.”
“You and the mayor don’t get along?” she asked.
“Mayor Justin Broadburn is an arrogant ass who thinks he’s going to turn Mystic Lake and its quaint little shops into a desirable tourist trap.”
“Murders aren’t exactly conducive to bringing in tourists,” she replied dryly.
“Exactly, and he’s breathing down my neck like a fire-shooting dragon with every day that passes, with each new murder that’s committed.” He raked a hand through his thick, dark hair. “Get out of here. Go home and hug your son and do something normal for the rest of the evening.”
She flashed him a smile. “That’s exactly what I have in mind.”
“Hey, Pocahontas.” The deep voice came from somewhere in the distance.
Amberly tensed as she watched Jeff Maynard cross the street with long strides to approach her, a nasty twist to his features.
“Hi, Jeff,” she replied, vaguely aware of Cole stepping closer to her as if anticipating trouble.
“Imagine my surprise when I found out the hot woman I partied with on Friday night was actually an FBI agent working murder cases and trying to pump me and my friends for information. You’re quite beautiful and an accomplished liar, Agent Nightsong.”
“I didn’t lie about anything,” Amberly countered.
“You didn’t tell us you were an FBI agent,” Jeff replied, his anger evident in the stiff set of his shoulders and the sneer that lifted his upper lip.
“You didn’t ask,” Amberly replied easily.
“But while you’re here, I’d like to ask you some questions about your whereabouts last night,” Cole said. He walked to Jeff and took him by his arm. “Why don’t you come inside with me and we’ll have a little chat.”
Jeff jerked his arm away. “Maybe I don’t feel like having a little chat right now.”
Cole shrugged easily. “We can do it now and get it out of the way, or we can do it when it’s a hell of a lot more inconvenient for you, but one way or the other, I need to interview you.”
There was a glare-off between Cole and Jeff, and finally it was Jeff who broke the eye contact. “Whatever,” he said. “Let’s just get it over with.”
As Cole led Jeff into the building, Amberly fought the impulse to follow behind them to see what Jeff might know about this latest murder, but she knew that Cole would do a good job, and Jeff might be more open if she wasn’t in the room. He’d looked as if he’d wanted to tear her head off over her little game that night at Bledsoe’s.
The best thing she could do was go home and spend the evening with Max. After the dream she’d had the night before, all she wanted to do was wrap her arms around her son and squeeze him half to death.
As she thought of that moment in the predawn hours when Cole had awakened her, a shiver slowly worked its way up her spine. The mutual desire between them had been obvious. His eyes had glinted with a silvery-blue light that had threatened to seduce her into inviting him into her bed.
She’d never felt such sexual longing for a man. Certainly not in her marriage to John and not since her divorce from him. It was a completely alien emotion for her, and she wasn’t sure what to do about it. Ignore it? Pretend it didn’t exist? Follow through on it?
Oh yes, she wanted to follow through on it. She wished she’d scooted over and raised up the sheet to allow him to join her in the bed last night.
To what end? She certainly wasn’t looking for anything long-term in her life. She didn’t even believe in long-term relationships. And Cole was at the opposite end of the pole, apparently content with the marriage he’d shared with his wife and unwilling to move forward from that.
But isn’t that what made him a perfect candidate for a quick, meaningless hookup? Heck, half the time she wasn’t even sure she liked Cole Caldwell, and the other half of the time she found herself imagining his strong arms around her, his mouth pressed tightly against her own.
As she drove, she glanced in her rearview mirror often, making sure she didn’t see a car following her. She didn’t want anyone from Mystic Lake following her home unless he was in the sheriff’s car and his name was Cole Caldwell.
Jeez, this case was making her crazy in more ways than one. They’d spent the day trying to make connections between the newest victim and all the others. They’d tried to tie Jeff Maynard, Jimmy Tanner and Raymond Ross to all of the victims, but other than Jeff dating Gretchen and Jimmy having a one-night stand with Barbara, there was a lack of a real trail to follow.
She shoved thoughts of crime scenes and murder out of her head as she pulled into John’s driveway. As she got out of the car, she smelled the odor of the brick charcoal grill coming from the backyard, and it evoked memories of when she and John had been married.
He’d always said he hated a gas grill and much preferred the smokiness of cooking out over hot coals. He’d built the barbecue pit himself and during the summers they’d often enjoyed time on the deck with some kind of meat filling the air with mouthwatering scents.
John answered her knock on the door. “Hey, you’re just in time. I was about to put some burgers on the grill. Max is out on the deck. Why don’t you let him stay to eat…? In fact, why don’t you join us? I’ve got plenty.”
“That’s the best offer I’ve had all day,” she replied with a smile.
She followed him through the living room and kitchen to the door that led out on the back deck. Max greeted her with a happy hug and then went back to standing at the barbecue pit, apparently taking his role as keeper of the tools very seriously.
“Dad, they’re starting to turn gray,” he said.
“Great, that means it’s time to put the hamburger on,” John replied.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Amberly asked.
“Sure, if you want to set the table out here, that would be great.”
For the next twenty minutes they fell into a comfortable routine. Amberly knew exactly which cabinet to go to for the bright green heavy-duty outdoors plates and utensils while John threw the burgers on the grill.
As the meat cooked, John got out potato salad and baked beans while Amberly grabbed the ketchup and mustard and a jar of dill pickles. Max added napkins to the table and then sat watching the burgers finish cooking.
Dinnertime was filled with good food and laughter as both Max and John were at their most charming and entertaining. Amberly felt the tension of the past couple of days slowly easing from her shoulders.
She ate like a truck driver who hadn’t seen food for months and laughed as John and Max teased her about her appetite. “Your dad is right. There’s nothing better than a charcoal-grilled burger,” she exclaimed as she squirted mustard on her second one.
“With lots of pickles,” Max agreed as he dug his fingers into the pickle jar. Amberly started to say something about manners but decided just to enjoy the moment of her son’s mischievous grin and her ex-husband’s laid-back attitude.
As they ate they talked about Max’s school activities, John’s painting and the art show he was planning to have next month.
John didn’t ask any questions about Amberly’s work, and she hadn’t expected him to. Even though she’d been an FBI agent when they’d first met and later married, it had always been something he’d insisted she keep private.
When they were finished eating, Max asked if he could play outside next door with a friend of his, and Amberly agreed so she could help John with the cleanup.
“That was nice, thanks,” she said as she gathered up the dirty plates to carry inside.
“It’s always nice when the three of us are together,” John replied.
Amberly knew it was a small dig, but she ignored it. “Yes, it is always nice,” she agreed. “It’s nice you and I have been able to remain on such friendly terms for Max’s sake.”
He was silent as he followed her into the kitchen, but it wasn’t a comfortable silence. Rather, it was one that usually preceded a new plea for reconciliation between the two of them.
She hoped that wasn’t the case this time. She was too tired to deal with old history, with the knowledge that she’d never been able to be what John wanted, what he needed in his life.
But it seemed whenever she and John were alone together, he couldn’t help himself; he turned the conversation to the possibility of reconciliation.
“You know I miss you,” he said as they put the dinner things away in the kitchen.
“John, you need to move on.” She stepped over to the sliding-glass door, where she could see Max in the yard next door playing catch with his friend. She turned back to her ex-husband. “Find a nice woman, a woman who makes you happy and will be a good addition to Max’s circle of family. You have to move on, John.”
“You haven’t,” he returned, his dark eyes holding hers intently.
“I haven’t moved forward, but I’m not going backward, either,” she said gently. “John, we gave it our best shot and both of us were miserable.” She reached out and placed her hand on his arm. “We were always meant to be friends, not lovers.”
“I never believed that,” he protested. “You were my muse, my beautiful Indian princess. The first time I painted you, I knew you were going to be somebody important in my life.”
“And I am,” she replied as she pulled her hand away from him. “I’m the mother of your son, and nothing and nobody can ever change that, but you have to stop thinking that somehow in the future, you and I are going to be a couple again.”
“I can always hope,” he replied, but thankfully his tone was lighter than it had been, and there was a spark of her old friend in his eyes. “I’d like you to come to the art show next month,” he continued. “I’ve got a surprise that I painted for you.”
“Oh God, please tell me you didn’t paint me naked on a horse again.”
He laughed. In the first year of their marriage, although she’d never posed for him nude, he’d painted her image looking every inch the proud Indian princess who just happened to be naked on the back of her horse.
She’d never allowed him to display it or try to sell it, and she hoped it was still in the back of the closet in the master bedroom where she’d insisted he put it after she’d seen it.
“No nude horseback riding. But I think you’ll like it a lot.”
“Do I have to wait until the night of the show to see it? Is it finished and can I see it now?”
He laughed again. “You never did have a lot of patience, especially when it comes to receiving gifts.”
“Duh, I am a woman,” she replied.
He frowned thoughtfully. “Maybe now would be a good time to give it to you. Hang tight and I’ll be right back.” He disappeared from the kitchen, and once again Amberly glanced out the window to check on Max.
She had several paintings from John and knew each of them was worth a small fortune. He’d already been a successful artist when she’d met him, but in the past several years he’d become something of a superstar in the Western art world.
She knew he was making tons of money from his work, but he lived a simple life and was most happy in the spare room of this modest house, which was his studio.
Turning her back to the window as she heard John’s approach, she saw that he carried a medium-size canvas, the front of it against his chest.
As he turned it around for her to see, her breath caught in her throat. It was a painting of her in a red, overstuffed chair, with Max on her lap. His arms were wrapped around her, and John had captured the absolute purity of the love between mother and son.
“Oh John,” she said softly. “It’s absolutely amazing.” His attention to detail was meticulous, and the painting seemed to breathe with life.
“Consider it an early birthday present,” he said.
“My birthday is still months away,” she replied as she took the painting from him. There was a part of her that knew she shouldn’t accept anything from John, that knew she shouldn’t feed into his fantasy of having them back all together as a family, but she couldn’t deny herself the pleasure of the picture.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’ll hang it in my bedroom where it’s the first thing I see when I open my eyes in the morning.” She turned and looked toward the window, not wanting to see the recriminations in John’s eyes, the neediness that had arisen in him since their divorce and had never gone away. “I’d better get the munchkin home. I imagine he has homework and he’ll need a good bath before bedtime.”
She turned back around to face John. “I’ll take him to school in the morning and then get in touch with you sometime during the day to see what the plans will be for tomorrow night.”
He nodded. “Must be a big case. You’re working lots of hours.”
“It is,” she replied and offered no more. “Thanks, John, for the dinner, the painting and all your support with Max,” she said as she walked toward the front door.
“You know I’m here for you, Amberly. Whatever you need, whenever you need it. I’ve been here for you since the first day we met, and nothing has ever changed for me.”
“Then I’ll let you know tomorrow if I’ll be available to get Max home from school.” She murmured a goodbye and left, breathing a deep sigh as she walked around the side of the house to holler for Max.
It hurt her to see him so sad, to know that she was the reason for his pain, that she was responsible for his dreams for his family not coming true.
She shoved thoughts of John out of her mind as, a few minutes later, she and Max walked into their house.
“Homework?” she asked.
“I don’t have any,” he replied. “Tomorrow is a first-of-the-school-year field day.”
“Field day? I thought that was usually at the end of the school year, not at the beginning,” she said.
“Now we have both. The first one is so us kids all get to know each other. I’m going to win all the races and get lots of ribbons.”
“You know that winning isn’t the most important thing. The important thing is that you do the best you can.”
Max gave her a long-suffering look. “But Mom, you don’t get a ribbon for doing the best you can.”
Amberly laughed and pulled him into her arms. “True, but you do get a ginormous kiss from your mom.” She smacked him on the forehead and then, for good measure, planted another kiss on his cheek.
“Uck, now head for the shower. Those kisses tasted like dirty boy.”
Max giggled as he ran for the hall bathroom, and the sound of his giggles washed away the lingering unease that had been with her since her nightmare the night before.
As he disappeared into the bathroom, she went into her own room and stripped off the clothes she had worn for the past two days. She pulled on an old sundress, deciding she’d take a nice, long bath once Max was in bed.
She had the perfect spot on the wall opposite her bed for the painting that John had given her. It truly would be the first thing she saw when she got out of bed in the mornings.
She wished John would let go of any fantasy he entertained of them eventually finding their way back to each other. She’d told him in every way possible that it wasn’t going to happen, that their marriage should have never really happened in the first place.
On impulse, she returned to the kitchen, dug her cell phone out of her purse and called her friend and fellow coworker, Lexie Forbes, who had recently become Lexie Walker. She’d met her husband almost a year ago when her sister had been murdered and she’d traveled to the small town of Widow Creek to investigate. Nick had helped her through the trauma of losing her twin sister, and in the process, the two had fallen madly in love. Nick had sold his ranch and moved to Kansas City, and two months ago, the two had married in a modest ceremony.
Lexie answered on the second ring. “I just figured I’d check on the newlyweds. How is it going?”
“I’m in a constant state of amazement and wedded bliss,” Lexie replied. “What about you? What’s going on?”
For the next few minutes Amberly told Lexie about her case in Mystic Lake. At one point, she walked down the hallway to check in on Max, who was in the process of drying off and getting on his pajamas.
She returned to the kitchen, where he wouldn’t be able to hear her conversation with Lexie. “So, tell me more about this Sheriff Cole Caldwell,” Lexie said.
“Why?”
“Because every time you mention his name, your voice lowers and gets softer. I sense something there.”
Amberly laughed. “That’s just your newlywed need to see romance everywhere. Granny Nightsong would say you have the blindness of happy sex in your eyes.”
“I think you could use a little happy sex in your life,” Lexie replied.
Amberly hated the way her thoughts instantly shot to Cole Caldwell. At that moment, Max came into the kitchen. “Hey, Lex, I’ve got to go. I need to spend a little time with the most important man in my life.”
“Tell Max I said hi, and good luck on the case.”
“Thanks, I think we’re going to need all the luck we can get.”
After hanging up with Lexie, Amberly and Max sat at the table and played three games of Go Fish. Amberly won one and Max won the other two, and then it was bedtime for Max.
As usual, as she sat on the edge of Max’s bed and touched the charm that hung around his neck, her heart welled up with a love that nearly brought tears to her eyes.
“May the warm winds of heaven blow softly upon your house. May the Great Spirit bless all who enter here. May your moccasins make happy tracks in many snows, and may the rainbow always touch your shoulder.” The old Cherokee blessing fell from her lips as she stroked several strands of his dark hair away from his forehead.
“I like that prayer,” he murmured sleepily.
“I do, too.” She leaned forward and kissed his forehead and then stood. “And I hope your moccasins run fast tomorrow during field day.”
Max smiled, his eyes closing to what she knew would be happy dreams.
Amberly left his bedroom and headed for the master bathroom off her bedroom. She ran a tub full of hot, scented water, twisted her thick hair into a messy topknot and then stripped off the sundress and eased into the tub.
The water enveloped her in the sweet aroma of orchids, and the heat eased each and every muscle in her body. She tried to empty her mind, but the images of the crime-scene photos kept sliding back into her consciousness.
Four victims. Three potential suspects. Were they on the right track with Jeff Maynard, Jimmy Tanner and Raymond Ross? Or were they spinning their wheels chasing three lowlifes whose biggest crimes were drinking too much and sleeping around?
Certainly the evidence pointed that all three men hated Gretchen Johnson and might have had something to do with her death. Jimmy Tanner had slept with Barbara Tillman and might have had reason to get rid of her. But Mary had no real connection to any of the men.
She sank lower in the water and closed her eyes, trying to find an escape from everything, but the victims refused to leave her alone. Gretchen Johnson, found next to the pizza parlor. Mary Mathis, her body on display in front of the library. Barbara Tillman had appeared to rest peacefully in the city park in the shade of a big oak tree. And finally the latest, Casey Richards, shoved in between two trash bins in the back of an alleyway.
Leaning forward, she grabbed a soapy sponge and ran it across the top of her shoulders, her brain still clicking and whirling despite her tiredness.
As she washed off, the crime-scene photos flashed in her head, a slide show of horror that held her by the throat, making it nearly impossible to enjoy the luxury of her bath.
By the time she was out of the tub and clad in her nightshirt, she was certain that Casey Richards was an anomaly…a copycat murder.
She had two choices, wait until morning to let Cole know her thoughts or call him now to give him her theory. She decided it was important enough to warrant a phone call. And she told herself it had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that she wouldn’t mind hearing the sound of his deep voice right now.
Back in the kitchen, she picked up her cell phone from the table and dialed his number. A glance at the clock let her know it was almost ten. She hoped he hadn’t already gone to bed. They’d been putting in some killer hours the past couple of days.
He answered on the second ring. “Amberly? Is everything all right?”
She liked the sound of her unusual name falling from his lips. “Everything is fine,” she quickly assured him, then added, “Well, not completely fine. Maybe I’m overthinking things, but I don’t think Casey was killed by our man.”
He remained silent and she knew he was waiting for her to continue to explain. “Think about it. The others were laid out in plain sight, posed in almost peaceful positions so they would be found immediately. He wanted his work on display, to be admired. But Casey was shoved between two trash bins in the back of an alley as if he didn’t want her found too soon. Why the sudden difference?”
“A copycat.” His tone was flat. “I don’t know why we didn’t see it immediately.”
“Because we weren’t looking for it. Because we’d been functioning on autopilot by the time Casey’s body was found,” she replied.
“I talked to her boyfriend, Terry Banks. He seemed really broken up about her death, but I need to look at him a little more closely now. I didn’t initially go hard on him because I thought Casey was another random victim of our killer.”
She heard the frustration in his voice, could imagine the tense lines that radiated down the sides of his handsome face, across his broad forehead.
Immediately, her desire was to erase those stress lines, even though she couldn’t see them in person. “So, we investigate Casey’s death as a separate murder and continue to push forward on the bigger investigation.”
“Of course, you’re right,” he agreed. “You know what the morning headline was on our little local throw paper? Dream Catcher Killer Strikes Again, and it details Casey’s murder.” This time his voice was filled with disgust.
“But that could work in your favor in solving Casey’s murder. Whoever killed her will feel safe.”
“You’re right again,” he agreed, his voice a bit more relaxed than it had been moments before. “You should be in bed. We’ve probably got another long day ahead of us tomorrow.”
“I could say the same for you,” she replied and tried to force the vision of the two of them in bed together out of her head.
“Yeah, I’m heading there right now.”
“Then I’ll see you in the morning around nine,” she replied. She hung up but remained seated at the table with her cell phone still in her hand, as if she was reluctant to break the momentary contact she’d had with him.
With a sigh, she set the cell phone on the table, feeling like a ridiculous teenager who was about to spy on her boyfriend’s house in the hopes of catching just a glimpse of him.
What on earth was going on with her when it came to Cole Caldwell? She’d never before felt the ball of tension that burned inside her stomach when talking to the man. She’d never experienced a teenage crush, and that’s what she felt she had going on with the handsome sheriff. But she wasn’t a teenager. She was thirty years old, and her only relationship with Cole Caldwell should be as a helpmate to get a killer off the streets.
She went to bed, but it took her a long time to fall asleep as she played and replayed the kiss she’d shared with Cole, as she remembered that moment in his guest bedroom when he’d awakened her from her nightmare and sexual tension had crackled in the air between them.
It was nothing more than a crush, and crushes passed. She fell asleep with that comforting thought in mind. She awakened the next morning just after dawn, feeling well rested and ready to take on a new day.
She made coffee, sucked down her first cup of the day and then decided to make pancakes for breakfast for her and Max. She got out the griddle, made the batter and then drank a second cup of coffee as she watched the sunrise.
As she stood at the window, she once again found her thoughts going back to the murders. Cole had instructed one of his deputies to run a search to see if dream catchers had been noted at any other murders in the general area over the past year. They’d also researched everything they could find about dream catchers in Indian culture, but had come up with no reason that the dream catchers might have been left at the murder scenes.
Whatever meaning the dream catchers had to the killer remained a mystery, but somehow, Amberly felt if they could solve that puzzle, it would go a long way in finding the killer. She wasn’t sure she believed that the killer hung them in order to keep the dead from having nightmares. There had to be another reason.
At quarter to seven, she went into Max’s bedroom to wake him. He was one of those kids who awoke instantly and always with a smile on his face. There was never any prodding or poking to get him up; he bounded out of bed as if in anticipation of a great adventure.
“Pancakes will be ready by the time you’re dressed,” she said.
“Chocolate chip?” he asked eagerly.
She smiled. “I think we can arrange a sprinkling of chips on each pancake,” she agreed.
“Awesome,” Max exclaimed as he headed to the hall bathroom.
By seven-fifteen, they were seated at the table sharing breakfast, and Max told her everything that was going to happen at school that day and his hopes to bring home at least half a dozen ribbons for activities during field day.
“If you wind up going to your dad’s after school today, I’ll call and you can give me the final medal total.”
“Expect to be amazed,” Max said, a shiny string of syrup running down his mouth.
Amberly laughed and handed him a napkin. “Finish up, brush your teeth and then grab your backpack. We’ve got to hit the road in ten minutes.”
As Max disappeared into the bathroom once again, Amberly quickly cleared the breakfast mess and then gathered her keys and purse to wait by the door. Within minutes, Max had joined her, and together they walked out into the morning sunshine.
“Hey, Ed,” she greeted her neighbor, who was in the process of digging up a dead shrub at the corner of his house. “You’re up and at it early this morning.”
“Heard it was supposed to get hot later today, and I’ve been meaning to get this eyesore out of here for the last year. Figured there was no better time than this minute. I want it gone before winter sets in.” He leaned on the handle of the shovel and smiled at Max. “Gonna knock them all dead today at field day, sport?”
“Definitely. I’ve got on my fastest tennis shoes and my lucky necklace.” He grabbed the amulet that hung around his neck. “Nobody stands a chance against me!”
“You’ll be at your dad’s after school today?” Ed asked.
Max exchanged a glance with his mother. “Probably. Mom’s working a big case.”
“Then I’ll probably see you over there. I’m determined to beat your dad at at least two games of chess in a row,” Ed said.
“Okay, see ya later,” Max said as he ran to the car.
“You are John are playing chess a lot in the evenings,” Amberly said to Ed.
“He’s a lonely man, Amberly.”
“I know. I’ve told him to move on, to find some nice woman who he can build something with,” Amberly said in frustration.
Ed nodded. “I’ve told him the same thing, only I told him to make her a blonde this time.”
Amberly laughed. “I’ve got to get out of here. See you later, Ed.”
As he waved a hand and then went back to digging with the shovel, she hurried toward her car in the driveway. She had just pulled out of her driveway when she noticed it, and her blood ran icy cold in her veins.
The dream catcher hung from her mailbox, and attached below it was a photo of her. She hit the brakes and put the car in Park, afraid to move, fear screaming through her so loud it took her several minutes to hear Max in the seat next to her.
“Mom, what’s wrong? Aren’t we going to school?”
He knew where she lived. He or they had left this as a warning that she was vulnerable, and that made Max vulnerable. Max… She had to get Max out of here. She dug her cell phone out of her purse and called John.
She didn’t want to leave her position in front of the mailbox, was somehow afraid that if she left for even a moment, then while she was gone, this new evidence would magically disappear.
John agreed to meet her at her house and get Max to school. The next call she made was to Cole. He answered on the first ring. “I have a problem,” she said.
“What kind of problem?”
“I was just getting ready to drive Max to school and I saw a dream catcher and my photo hanging on my mailbox,” she said.
There was a long moment of stunned silence. “Don’t touch anything and don’t call the local cops. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. This is part of our ongoing investigation. I don’t want anyone else involved.”
Before she could say anything else, he clicked off. By that time, John had arrived. It took only a minute to transfer Max from her car to his, and then he roared off, promising to be back after he’d dropped Max at school.
Ed watched the proceedings but kept his own counsel, continuing to dig at the shrub while Amberly focused her attention back on the dream catcher and photo.
The picture was a profile photo from one of the social networks she occasionally visited, and the dream catcher, the cheap kind that had been found at all of the crime scenes in Mystic Lake.
Was this the work of one of the men she’d met in the bar Friday night? The same night she’d thought somebody had been outside of her house?
Was this a reminder to her that they could get to her whenever they wanted, or was this a promise that she was intended to be the next victim?