“Is there anything else you think I should know about Ken?” Evan asked, prepared to end the interview.
Shannon scratched her neck as she thought. “I feel like I should have a secret to reveal to help find his killer, but I don’t.”
Evan stood, prompting Shannon to get to her feet. “You’ve been a big help. You have my number if you think of anything else.”
After she left, Evan returned to his desk and pulled up his email, pleased to find two attachments from the forensics team. One was a list of every object recovered from the campsite. Multiple objects had been highlighted for testing, like Ken’s clothing and sleeping bag. The other list was from Ken’s home. The team had collected some fingerprint evidence and looked for weapons. His desktop computer had been removed to be sent to the FBI’s regional digital forensics lab in Portland along with the cell phone from the scene. Evan made a note to wait a few days and follow up on the electronics, hoping he wouldn’t have to prod the lab to move his case up the priority list. Every investigator wanted their evidence to be highest priority, and the lab was overworked.
He’d already submitted a request to the wireless carrier for the last two months of Ken’s cellular activity, and the medical examiner had planned Ken’s autopsy for the next morning. She’d placed Ken’s death at between midnight and 4:00 a.m. but warned Evan that the window of time was an estimate until she ran some labs from the autopsy.
A BOLO had been issued for Ken’s SUV. A ten-year-old Ford Explorer.
Evan knew it was possible he was looking for two suspects. Somehow the killer had gotten to the camping location but also managed to take Ken’s vehicle with him. It indicated two drivers.
He didn’t feel the stolen vehicle was the killer’s target. The deliberate shots to the head and torso didn’t jibe with someone who simply wanted to steal an older SUV.
The killing felt personal.
A tour of Ken’s home was next for Evan. The forensics team had found no evidence of a break-in or violence at the house.
Evan glanced out the window. The sun was moments away from setting.
Tomorrow.
He wanted to search Ken’s house in natural light. He knew a patrol car had been parked in front of the home since Ken’s identification, keeping watch until Evan could go through the house. He grimaced, hating to tie up a much-needed patrol unit overnight.
I should go through the home now.
He could always return in the daylight.
Evan shut down his computer and pushed in his chair, his gaze falling on his notes from the interview with Shannon.
Rowan’s missing brother.
It had absolutely nothing to do with his investigation, but damn, he was curious. He could do a quick search, get an idea of what Shannon had meant when she said Rowan was looking for her brother.
He pushed the thought away.
I have a killer to focus on.
6
Rowan stared at her reflection in the salon mirror. No one looked good with their hair in foils.
No one.
Her younger sister Ivy deftly painted color on more strands and folded another foil, chatting with her identical twin, Iris, who swept the floor around the adjacent chair.
Rowan sighed. That evening she’d stopped by her sisters’ salon, Dye Hard, for a quick discussion about an upcoming birthday party and had been cajoled into the chair. Ivy had started it. She’d wrinkled her nose as she eyed Rowan’s wavy, long hair. “Your dirty blonde is looking flat and more dirty than usual. Let’s punch it up.”
“It’s fine,” Rowan had replied, inching backward toward the entrance, knowing what was next.
“Nope,” said Iris, taking Ivy’s side as usual. “Get in the chair. It won’t take long.”
Iris and Ivy’s definition of long was much different from Rowan’s.
Her twin sisters were like puppies. They surrounded and ganged up with sweetness and big brown eyes. Rowan knew not to be fooled. The two women were powerhouses of getting what they wanted while making people believe it had been their idea in the first place.
They were dangerous.
Rowan eyed the multiple bowls of color on the tray. As far as she could tell, Ivy was determined to add a half dozen shades to her hair. Rowan sat meekly, struggling to keep still. She hated the long process, but her sisters were wizards with color, and her hair always looked amazing when they finished.
The hair salon had originally been their mother’s. It had started with the benign name of Main Street Salon, which it had kept for several decades before the twins had taken over eight years ago. As they did with every project, the twins entirely threw themselves into updating the salon and giving it a classy edge. The interior was stylish, with clean lines, huge mirrors, and elegant chairs in the waiting area. The decor was black and white except for the pop of rich green from the long plant wall. A row of heavy, intricate chandeliers hung from the high ceilings. Rowan knew they had cost more than the entire rest of the remodel.
A large photo of Bruce Willis with his arms around the seventeen-year-old starstruck twins was propped up on a delicate table in the waiting area. He’d been in town shooting a movie, and the encounter had influenced the salon’s name.
The twins sparkled in their environment. Three years younger than Rowan, the girls were identical in their energy and drive but not in their individual styles. Single mom Ivy leaned toward the stylish elegance of the forties and fifties, her hair always elaborately coiffed and her lipstick bright red. Iris always dressed with a theme. One day she would look as if she’d been on a street corner in Haight-Ashbury in the sixties, and the next day she would be full goth or eighties Day-Glo, but always with impeccable hair and makeup. Photo ready. She managed the salon’s Instagram account. The photos of the stylish twins were always more popular among their several hundred thousand followers than their clients’ hair photos.
“I’m so sorry about Ken,” Ivy murmured as she folded a foil that had been blocking Rowan’s vision. “I know how close you were to him.”
“Thanks.” A raw pain blossomed, but it wasn’t as overpowering as it had been earlier that day. Rowan suddenly realized that her sister was doing her hair because this was how the twins gave comfort. They thrived on providing services that made people feel good. “And thank you for doing my color,” Rowan added. “I appreciate it.”
Ivy beamed. “I love working on your hair.”
The salon door opened, and Rowan’s mother came in, holding West’s hand. Ivy’s eyes lit up at the sight of her seven-year-old son. She took a step back, and Iris smoothly moved in to take over Rowan’s foils. Each of the twins always knew what the other needed. They often seamlessly switched between clients.
“We can postpone tomorrow’s birthday party,” said Iris as she dipped a brush in the color. Her outfit today was styled after Wednesday Addams, complete with braids. “You’ve got enough going on.”
“No. It’ll be a good distraction for me,” stated Rowan. She wouldn’t put off her missing brother’s party. The family had been celebrating Malcolm’s birthday without him for decades. Rowan wouldn’t have it canceled out of pity for her.
Iris frowned. “You’re not going to . . .” She let her sentence trail off.
“I am,” Rowan said firmly.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea right now? Ivy and I aren’t so sure. Maybe go another day.” Iris set her hand on Rowan’s shoulder and met her gaze in the mirror. Concern filled her sister’s eyes.
They don’t understand.
The twins had been too young to remember when Rowan and Malcolm were kidnapped and missing for three weeks. They only knew their brother through photos.
Rowan remembered everything.
Every year on his birthday, Rowan returned to the woods where she had been found. She and Thor would search for a sign of Malcolm for several hours. Rowan didn’t know exactly what she was looking for, but she’d know it when she saw it.
A small Nike tennis shoe. A silver belt buckle. Bones.