3rd Degree (Women's Murder Club 3) - Page 52
The image brought a smile to all our faces, a tearful one.
“So that’s what I think.” Claire took a napkin and dabbed her eyes. “I think she’s skiing powder. I have to believe she’s skiing powder, Lindsay.”
Chapter 65
CINDY STAYED AT HER DESK late that night, when only a handful of Metro stringers trolling the police wires were still around. The truth was, where else could she go?
This thing with Jill was killing her; it was killing all of them.
Word had leaked out. A missing A.D.A. was news. Her city editor asked if she wanted to write it. He knew they were friends. “It’s not news yet,” she had snapped. Writing it made it news. Made it real.
This time it wasn’t happening to someone else.
She stared at a photo of them she kept taped to her cubicle. The four of them, in their old haunt, Susie’s, their corner booth, after they solved the bride and groom case. A few margaritas had left their brains leaking like a wetlands preserve. Jill had seemed so invincible. The power job, the power husband. Never once had she let on….
“C’mon, Jill,” Cindy whispered, feeling her eyes glistening over. Come through this. Walk through that door. Show your pretty face, smiling. I’m praying, Jill. Walk through that fucking door.
It was after eleven. Nothing was happening here. It was just her way of keeping the vigil, keeping up hope. Go home, Cindy. Call it a night. Nothing you can do now.
A maintenance man vacuuming the stall winked at her. “Working late, Ms. Thomas?”
“Yeah,” she sighed, “burning the midnight oil.”
She finally threw a few things in her purse and checked her computer one last time before she logged off. Maybe she’d call Lindsay. Just to talk.
A new e-mail flashed on her screen.
Cindy knew without even opening it who it was from. [email protected]
She knew the timing. She knew they warned her of a new victim every three days. It was Sunday. August Spies were due.
“You were warned,” the message began. “But you were arrogant and didn’t listen.”
Oh God. A tiny cry escaped from Cindy’s throat.
She flashed down the screen, reading the terrifying message, the chilling signature at the end.
August Spies had struck again.
Chapter 66
I GOT HOME THAT NIGHT at eleven, exhausted and empty-handed. For a few moments I stood thinking at the bottom of the outside stairs. In the morning, Jill would be officially listed as “missing.” I’d have to head up an investigation into the disappearance of one of my closest friends.
“I thought you’d want to know”—I heard a voice above me, catching me by surprise—“I heard back from Portland.”
I looked up and saw Molinari; he was sitting on the top step.
“They found a secretary at Portland State who leaked Propp’s whereabouts to a boyfriend. They traced the gun to him. Local radical. But I suspect that’s not going to cheer you up much tonight.”
“I thought you were supposed to be somebody important, Molinari,” I said, too empty and tired to show how glad I was to see him. “How come you always end up babysitting me?”
He stood up. “I didn’t want you to feel you have to be alone.”
Suddenly I just couldn’t hold back. The floodgates burst, and he came down and held me. Molinari drew me to him tightly as the tears carved their way down my cheeks. I felt ashamed to let him see me like this—I wanted so badly to appear strong—but I couldn’t get the tears to stop.
“I’m sorry,” I said, trying to catch myself.
“No”—he stroked my hair—“you don’t have to pretend with me. You can let it out. There’s no shame.”
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