Skye Cree 03: The Bones Will Tell (9 page)

In her fifty
years Lena Bowers had known loss. Ten years earlier her husband of eighteen years had succumbed to pancreatic cancer. Upon high school graduation, her oldest son, Jason, had joined the military and was promptly shipped to Afghanistan to serve his country. He never made it back.

Her youngest son,
Jarod, had his own life in California attending San Jose State—which meant she rarely saw him mostly during holidays—the last time, four days at Christmas. At the time, Jarod hadn’t been overjoyed about his mother taking on a former runaway, a street kid by the name of Zoe Hollister. But Zoe had filled a void in Lena’s life. And now that the courts had let Lena become Zoe’s foster mother, the bond between the two had only gotten stronger.

She had
experience raising boys. Zoe, however, came with a different zeal for life that made Lena grateful she’d offered her home to the young teen.

For one thing, d
espite the girl’s protests about going to school, the fourteen-year-old eighth grader had discovered she actually enjoyed learning. Zoe especially loved English class. Her love for reading rivaled Lena’s. They spent hours discussing the suspense of
Hunger Games
, all the while dealing with the knowledge District 13 hadn’t been destroyed in the first rebellion—or rehashing Harry Potter plot lines in detail.

For months now, Zoe had settl
ed comfortably into Lena’s life, at home in the Victorian near Capitol Hill. Tonight the two of them looked forward to welcoming the honeymooners, Josh and Skye, back from St. Kitts. Zoe couldn’t wait to hear all about the trip from the source.

Lena already knew
her charge had a major case of hero worship when it came to Skye. The girl had even written a composition for English class about who she most admired. The subject, Skye Cree. Zoe hadn’t even considered calling her Ander yet. When Zoe had mentioned that very topic to Skye, the woman had assured Zoe that she had no intentions of changing her name. That was all right by Zoe.

Zoe had already decided she wanted to be exactly like Skye
, Native American to boot. That’s why she’d dyed her hair to match Skye’s. She’d even taken to using feathered earrings as accessories and wearing faux black leather.

But
lately Lena had been concerned more about Zoe preparing for college than how she accessorized her wardrobe. Getting the girl to keep her grades up had become a priority.

“It’s never too early to s
tart thinking about getting into a good school.”

“But
Skye didn’t,” Zoe tossed back. “She’s done fine.”

“That’s not the point,” Lena argued.

“Yeah, well, the newspapers write stories about how she catches the bad guys. I want to do that.”

“
If you want to catch the bad guys like Skye, then go to college, get an education, to do it.”

The teen’s response
was a big harrumph.

“If you want your op
inion to be taken seriously, lose the attitude,” Lena said.

“Okay, okay.”

When the doorbell chimed, Zoe took off to answer it.

“Look through the peephole, Zo
e,” Lena warned, her voice rising to the teenager’s back. “Just in case it might not be Skye.”

Zoe skidded on the hardwood floor all the way across the entryway. At the last minute she decided to heed Lena’s advice. “It’s them,” Zoe shouted
staring through the security slit.

“Lena an
d I baked double fudge brownies for dessert,” Zoe announced, stepping back to let Skye and Josh inside.

“
Good, I haven’t had my chocolate fix today,” Josh replied, noticing Zoe was all but bouncing on her toes. “As if you needed any more sugar in your system,” he teased.

“Oh that, I’m just excited to see you guys.”

“Did you find a house?” Lena asked from the doorway, wiping her hands on a dish towel.

“Not yet
. But we did take the tour on a couple of open houses. We even went all the way over to Bainbridge Island for one.” Skye went to wrap her arms around her friend and sensed tension in Lena. Eyeing the two, she finally turned to Lena. “This one giving you much trouble?”

“
Just the usual stubborn streak a fourteen-year-old tends to have, a lot like someone else I know. Maybe you two could emphasize the importance of a college education to Zoe while you’re here.”

“
Never got one of those myself, but I hear they come in handy for things like, oh I don’t know, getting a terrific job.”

Zoe rolled her eyes at the two women
and flashed her eyes on the only man in the room. “Josh didn’t get one of those and he runs his own company.”

“Yeah, but a lot of days I wish I
’d bothered, especially in negotiations.”

“You guys are ganging up on me. Not fair,” Zoe
whined. “I’m still young. I’ve got four years yet to decide about stupid college.”

“And getting ready to turn fifteen in two months,”
Skye pointed out as she tousled the girl’s hair. She eyed Zoe’s recent dye job. “What’s with the all-black look?”

“That’s easy,” Lena said. “She’s emulating her hero.
You. Ask her about the composition she wrote for English class. It was five pages of Skye Cree this, Skye Cree that, the person she admires the most.”

“Me?
Really? I don’t believe anyone’s ever done that before.”

“Sure they have,” Zoe said. “They write about you on the Internet all the time.
They say you make a difference. I should know. You got me off the streets.”

Skye let out a heavy breath. “
But what I do is dangerous, Zoe. Very. I wouldn’t recommend doing it for a living.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re siding with Lena
in this thing. College isn’t for everyone,” Zoe argued, her face sporting the pout of a typical teen.

“I’m not
defending Lena. You are right about one thing though. You’re fourteen with plenty of time to settle on what you want to do in life before making a decision right now.”

“You having a hard time at school, Zoe?”
Josh wanted to know. “Because I’ve been told that college is nothing like middle school.”

“Nah, things are okay. I told
everyone that I’m getting a job at Ander All Games this summer.”

Skye grinned
at Josh and put her arm around Zoe. “By the way, any chance I could get a look at that essay? I’d like to see for myself what you really think about me.”

Zoe elbowed her playfully in the ribs. “Sure. I was gonna write about
Pink but the teacher said I had to actually know the person.”

Lena shook her head. “You two go on. Josh and I will set the table.”

Skye followed Zoe into the hallway and upstairs to her room. Once inside Skye asked, “What about Lena? She would’ve been my first choice.”

“
I thought about it,” Zoe muttered. “But I needed action in my story. I couldn’t write about Lena because she stays home most of the time.” Zoe opened a drawer and took out a sheet of paper. “This is the one I started on Lena. But I ran out of things to say.”

Skye read the words on the page. It warmed her heart to know the girl had waxed poetic about her foster mother. “You should have turned this one in
, Zoe. Why don’t you show it to her? I’m sure it would mean a lot, especially since you two are at odds over this college thing.”

“She’ll think it’s silly.”

“Not at all. I know Lena. She needs to know how you feel. This’ll do it.” Skye held up the paper, looped her arm through Zoe’s. “Come on. Let’s show her this one. Lena will be off-the-map ecstatic.”

It was after dinner when Skye’s cell phone dinged. Harry Drummond’s number popped up on the digital readout.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“
I thought you and Josh might want to know. Shawna Langley woke up about three hours ago. She started talking.”

“And?”

“She confirmed her stepfather followed her to school that morning, parked across the street from the bus. She remembered he honked his horn to get her attention as she stepped off. When Shawna went over to the car to see what he wanted, he convinced her to cut her first period math class and go with him to a diner nearby to get breakfast, which she’d apparently skipped. Once he got her into the car, he drove to a nearby park where he raped her.”

“
Then where was she for a week? Let me guess. The bastard panicked after the rape—”

“Not sure if he panicked or not but
Shawna said he went crazy after the sexual assault, screaming at her that she’d better not tell anyone. But then while she was getting dressed, he started trying to strangle her from behind. I guess he decided he couldn’t chance her keeping her mouth shut. She remembered them fighting, rolling around on the ground. She doesn’t recall what happened after that. At some point she must have hit her head.”

“
Or maybe the stepfather thought he’d killed her and left her for dead. Somehow she managed to regain consciousness and walked off. Tell me Bob Houston’s in custody.”

“
He is. Got an arrest warrant as soon as I heard Shawna’s story, went out to the house and put the cuffs on him myself. I’ll be doing paperwork for the rest of the night but it’s worth it. I wanted you to know the outcome. You did it again, Skye. You got us the bad guy.”

“
Not me. All I did was locate the girl. Shawna Langley did the rest.”

H
e sat on the ground among tall evergreens bounded by mountain violet that hadn’t yet bloomed, looking up at a slender thread of stars in the night sky. With his hands resting on his knees, he breathed in the crisp, cool air and the peacefulness he found here.

That was because this stretch of clearing overlooking the soggy marshland
below was his special place. For almost a quarter of a century he’d been coming here to find solace—a peace from the pressure and grind at work.

He dropped his head
so he could look over at the recently turned earth, mopped his brow. He surveyed his boneyard. He liked to take this time alone to relive what he’d done, to picture in his head those buried here. If only he’d been allowed to keep his collection in one place. But he hadn’t always had the foresight to do so. What was it the Roman philosopher Cicero said?
Ah yes, rashness belongs to youth; prudence to old age.
He could attest to that. He was careful these days, maybe too over-cautious for his own good. But all that would change soon. He’d already put the wheels in motion.

What stayed the same inside him was his
difficulty in letting go. Putting them in the ground seemed almost too final. But it had to be done. The bodies, dismembered in chunks and pieces, wouldn’t keep forever. No way around that, he thought now. Yes, a shame he couldn’t keep them all here, he decided. But he hadn’t always owned this piece of land. Because of that he didn’t have access to all his early treasures. That’s the way he thought of those he’d taken in his youth—his very own personal collection of treasures. At least, he was able to go visit them. It’s one reason he’d never considered moving out of his home state.

He knew he
wasn’t as young as he used to be, nor as spry, not as agile or as quick. His looks were fading, too. It took him longer to coax his quarry into the car. He’d have to come up with a much more original ruse than relying on his charm. Unless of course, opportunity knocked, then he would take the opening and make the most of it.

Lately
, he’d resorted to other methods, because in order to subdue them, he needed to get as close as possible. That he would need to work on, to perfect his methods. After all, when he’d first started out, there had been no such thing as text messages or instant messaging.

And
like tonight, he found it took him longer to dig up the earth—not like it did in his youth when there was joy in each spade of dirt. Now, when he finally did let go, it took him twice as long to put them in the ground.

Not a good sign
at all.

All that
considered, it added up. He was slower to recover from each kill. One of the reasons he had to take the time to get his second wind, so to speak. If he intended to play Skye Cree’s game, he had to be in tip-top shape. After all, look what she’d done to De Palo. The poor bastard had been laid up in the hospital for a week before ending up in county.

He didn’t intend to end up like De Palo.

That’s one reason he’d dropped fifteen pounds since Thanksgiving. He’d lowered his cholesterol. His last lab test showed it was down to one-ninety-two. He’d cut back on his meat consumption, avoided eggs, and stuck to eating oatmeal in the mornings.

Th
e same week he’d begun his new diet, he’d started hitting the gym twice a week. That’s when he’d gotten his inspiration, his most brilliant idea ever. While lifting weights he’d been watching the local news station do a story about some female who’d beat the crap out of a serial killer, some small-time punk who considered himself God’s gift to women.

He’d sat there dumbfounded in stunning realization that this De Palo guy had been small potatoes
in body count compared to him. He’d been at this far longer, and been far more successful than the rat bastard Skye Cree had beaten to a bloody pulp.

Then why
had the son of a bitch gotten the spotlight? It wasn’t fair. Back in December, he’d been sick and tired of listening to the reporters go on and on about the brilliant serial killer who had defied authorities for years. He was fed up with not getting noticed, tired of other people like Frank De Palo getting all the press. Didn’t he work just as hard as De Palo? Didn’t he deserve a little of that limelight coming his way for a change?

He was in a rut and he needed to get out of it.
If not now, then when? If he planned to string Skye Cree along and lead her down the path he wanted her to go, then he needed to follow up in a big way. It was time to get her attention and keep it.

Red-haired
Maggie
Bennett’s life had taken an upswing in recent months. Her third year at UDub was turning out to be better than she’d hoped, certainly better than sophomore year.

And s
he’d recently met a cute guy at the part-time job she’d found. Earning a few extra bucks toward her rent every month would surely keep her parents off her back about grades, especially her dad. The hours were flexible, which meant she could devote more time to her courses. Besides, the new guy seemed to be more than happy to help her out with advanced chemistry and calculus.

They’d slept together
half a dozen times even though they’d only known each other since Christmas. Earlier that day the two had spent an awesome Saturday together—all day long beginning at ten that morning. He’d taken her to breakfast for omelets. From there, they’d caught an early matinee and then got a burger afterward. But then he’d ruined it all by getting testy because she’d suggested they make it an early evening. Saturday nights were meant for dates, he’d said—and sex. But she still had a pile of laundry to do and a paper to write for her environmental class that was due on Monday.

Since
they worked together and saw each other five times a week, she hoped it didn’t start getting awkward between them. She wasn’t ready for a serious relationship. How was she supposed to tell him that he was crowding her? Wasn’t spending her Saturday with him enough?

As
Maggie collected the laundry to take downstairs she remembered she’d run out of detergent ten days ago. She’d been meaning to pick some up but kept forgetting. If she didn’t do it now, she’d just keep putting it off.

The convenience store was a block over. It would take her
less than ten minutes to walk there. She wouldn’t even need to move her car and risk losing her parking space. In her neighborhood everyone knew street parking was at a minimum.

Digging i
n her purse, she took out a ten dollar bill and stuffed it into her jeans pocket. No reason to lug her bag with her either, she thought.

With that, Maggie
dashed out the door, planning to be gone no longer than twenty minutes. She was in such a hurry she didn’t even remember to grab her phone.

Two nights later
, pretty waitress Willa Dover wound her way through the restaurant bussing tables as she went. The twenty-two-year-old server, with long flaxen hair, was about to end her shift at Country Kitchen, a job she’d had for less than three months. It was just shy of midnight and she’d been on her feet for eight hours straight taking care of the dinner crowd. Tuesday nights were usually slow—tonight had been anything but.

She
didn’t mind hard work. Having quit school when she was sixteen, she knew life would never be easy. If she could go back, she’d change a few of her stupid decisions.

Willa
looked up from wiping down a particularly messy table—where a cranky two-year-old had just spent a couple hours crumbling up every cracker she’d given her into mush—to spot Velma Gentry, strolling through the door. Her replacement looked perky as ever.

“
Been busy?” Velma asked.

Willa
didn’t know how the woman did it. Velma always seemed to be cheerful no matter what time of day or night it was. Not only that, but Velma had an outlook on life she envied. It’s probably what made Velma such a good waitress. “We got slammed about four hours ago, been downright crazy ever since.”

“
Travis been in? I need to talk to him.”

“He was here around six.
Haven’t seen him since. Why?”

“Bill and me
, we got us a reservation in two weeks at one of those fancy bed and breakfasts outside of town. Four days. I’m gonna sleep till noon all four, read me one of those hot and steamy romance novels and never leave my room. I want to ask Travis for some time off.”

Will
a looked skeptical. “You got Bill to agree to take you to a B&B? That don’t sound like Bill to me.”

“I know. But it’s our anniversary and I told
that man, I’ll be damned if I spend another year celebrating our wedded bliss without doing something special.”

Willa
guffawed. “Is there such a thing as wedded bliss?”

“Damned if I know. But it got me a reservation and I’m making
the most out of it and making him stick to the plan come hell or high water.”

When
Willa started to reach for the salt to start filling them up, Velma stopped her. “Honey, why don’t you go ahead and clock out. I’ve got cleanup here.” She looked around the almost empty dining room. “I don’t see a rush hitting anytime soon unless the tokers come out for a little snack.”

“You sure?
I wouldn’t mind getting off my feet and home to Charlie, although he’s more than likely dead to the world this time of the night.” Charlie Tucker was her sometime on-and-off-again boyfriend. Lately the two of them had been on.

“
Make sure Charlie does something nice for you, you hear?”

“Believe it or not, we’ve been doin’ lots better than we ever did before.”

“Good. Good. ’Cause you’re a sweet girl, Willa.”

The blonde smiled.
“I like you, too, Velma.”

“Now go on, get outta here.
Tell that boyfriend of yours to treat you right. Tell him I said so or else.”

Willa
didn’t have to be told again to hit the road. Her feet were killing her. This time, she circled around the counter, went to the back of the diner to clock out.

The time on her card read twelve-nineteen.

Grabbing her purse and jacket she slipped out the door and headed for her fifteen-year-old Honda Accord.

She hadn’t gone twenty yards when a
n older model Jeep Cherokee pulled into the lot and stopped next to her. He got so close that he almost ran over her foot with the left front tire. She watched as the man behind the wheel rolled down the driver’s side window.

“I’m lost. I’m trying to find 90 but I
think I have to get back to the I-5 first? By any chance could you give me directions?”

“Sure.
But you don’t have to get on the 5 to hit the Express.” Willa stepped closer to the car. “Two blocks over is First Avenue. Take a right, then a left on Cherry. When you see Second Ave, take another right. Head south until you get to Seattle Boulevard. It’ll dump you into I-90.”

She
made the mistake of leaning her hand on the car window so she could turn to point to the end of the street.

All of a sudden
the car door burst open, thrusting her off her feet. Before she could struggle she had to right herself. But the man was quick. When she opened her mouth to scream, she felt the cold steel of a nightstick punch her in the head.