Chapters (46)
- Title Page
- Copyright Page
- Dedication
- Acknowledgements
- one
- two
- three
- four
- five
- six
- seven
- eight
- nine
- ten
- eleven
- twelve
- thirteen
- fourteen
- fifteen
- sixteen
- seventeen
- eighteen
- nineteen
- twenty
- twenty-one
- twenty-two
- twenty-three
- twenty-four
- twenty-five
- twenty-six
- twenty-seven
- twenty-eight
- twenty-nine
- thirty
- thirty-one
- thirty-two
- thirty-three
- thirty-four
- thirty-five
- thirty-six
- thirty-seven
- thirty-eight
- thirty-nine
- forty
- forty-one
- forty-two
“The pillow,” I said. “There was a pillow in the crib. The oldest girl said it didn’t belong there. I just remembered why. When Logan and Kate were little, Elena wouldn’t put pillows or stuffed animals in their cribs. They’re smothering hazards. Tiffany’s baby is a little old for that, but I didn’t notice anything else in the crib. Even if Tiffany did decide to start giving her pillows, that one was for decoration, not sleeping on.”
“So someone put a pillow in the crib—Shit.”
He didn’t say what he was thinking. I already knew. I could picture it, the killer standing over the crib, looking down at the screaming baby, pillow in hand, thinking the unthinkable ...
As we waited to turn onto Main Street, a tow truck drove by. Hoisted on the back was a black BMW. My gut seized, and I stared after it as it disappeared from sight.
“That Michael’s car?” Adam asked quietly.
I nodded.
“Okay, we’re getting you back to the motel. That’s enough for one day. Time for rest, dinner—”
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I want to be,” I said, softly enough that I didn’t think he’d hear, but he reached over and squeezed my hand.
“I know,” he said. “But let’s take a break from toughing it out, okay? We’ve done a lot this afternoon. Time to back up, give it time to gel, and plan our next move.”
I couldn’t argue with that. A car honked behind us and Adam pulled onto Main Street.
thirty
thirty
Jesse was on his way back to the motel when I called to tell him about Tiffany. He grabbed takeout from the diner and as we ate, we talked about Tiffany. As with Michael’s death, he wasn’t convinced it was murder. If Tiffany found out her husband was the killer, it made sense to him that she’d end her own life rather than face the consequences.
“Look at her,” he said. “Typical middle-class housewife. Appearances are everything. She couldn’t handle it.”
I disagreed, but didn’t say so. After arguing that Michael had been murdered, I hated to sound paranoid.
Jesse’s druid friend had gotten back to him. He was sure the ritual wasn’t druidic. So no movement on that front. What he did have was a lead on Cody’s illegal activities, but he wasn’t ready to share.
“If I’m right, it’s the same one Detective Kennedy was following,” he said. “Which means I want to tread carefully. I’m pretty sure there’s a supernatural link, even if Cody isn’t it. I bet that’s what his wife was talking about—she was using her powers to protect or promote the business. Anyway, it’s pretty vague and you guys have enough to work on, right?”
“Right.”