Deserves to Die (Alvarez & Pescoli)

Connie stopped mopping for a moment and nodded to Jessica, letting her know she should listen up.

Misty went on. “Just a little while back some lunatic killed women and then displayed them in the snow or some other fucked-up thing. Damn serial killer, that one was. And he wasn’t the first. Right, Connie?”

“Sure thing.” Slightly heavy, Connie was sweating as she leaned on her mop. “My mom is thinking about moving away and she’s lived here all her life. But she had faith in Sheriff Grayson. He always caught the nutcases. Now—” She shrugged, indicating who knew what the future might bring, then carried her mop and pail to the back door.

Misty jabbed the unlit cigarette between her pale lips. “The trouble is, the way things are going, another psycho’s probably coming down the pike.”

Jessica’s gut tightened. “You think that the woman found on the ranch is the victim of a serial killer?”

“Maybe. Who knows? Around here you have to go there, whether you want to believe it or not.”

Connie opened the back door and threw the dirty water from her bucket into an area that, beneath the snow, was graveled.

“Watch out! We don’t want that to freeze and end up being slippery as snot,” Misty said. “The last thing I need is to break my leg, or wrench my damn back.”

Connie said, “I tossed the water right where you told me to. Not in the damn parking lot or near the steps. It’s in the effin’ garden. Your idea.”

“Last summer it was, when the temperature was in the eighties.” Misty caught the girl’s angry glare and lifted a hand. “Yeah, okay. Sorry. It’s fine.”

“I know it’s fine.” Connie peeled off her apron and stalked to her locker.

As the locker door slammed, Misty and Jessica walked outside together and Jessica asked the question that had been nagging at her ever since she’d heard the first whisper of a rumor about the victim. “Did you hear that the woman they found on the O’Halleran ranch was mutilated?”

Misty was clicking her lighter to the end of her cigarette. “Mutilated? Shit, no.” Positively stricken, she drew in hard on her filter tip. “Oh, Jesus.” She shook her head as snowflakes caught in her hair. “I didn’t hear that, but I was too busy to pay much attention. You sure about that?”

“No. Just something I overheard.”

“Well, I hope to heaven it’s not true. Mutilated, how?”

“I don’t know.”

“Who was talking about it? That new sheriff? I saw you waiting on him. He should be careful about talking in public. That is, if he wants to get elected.”

“No,” Jessica said quickly, remembering t

he intense look he’d sent her way. “It was the woman who came in about the same time, the one who asked me for a million additions.”

Misty’s eyes narrowed through the smoke. “Oh, God, that’s right. Lois Zenner, she was with her husband. Such a pain. Left you one dollar for a tip, right?” she asked. “One lousy buck. Well, she’s a gossip and a prig and tight as ever, but she does have a niece who works at the department, I think. An underling, but usually Lois’s gossip is right on.”

Jessica’s heart stilled. That information had come out of the department?

“But mutilated? Christ, what is the world coming to? The sickos sure find us, don’t they?” Misty walked to her car and slid inside as Jessica made her way to her own vehicle. If she were lucky, she could get home and still catch the late-night news.

This has nothing to do with me.

But as she drove away, trying to deny that he had found her again and convince herself that he wasn’t nearby, she couldn’t stop her heart from beating a little faster, nor could she keep her fingers from nervously clenching the wheel. At the first stoplight, she slowed, let the car idle, and eyed the surrounding area nervously. The town was quiet, no one on the streets, no other sets of headlights behind her, no taillights in front. The traffic light blinked an eerie red upon the powdery streets and every muscle in her body was tense.

He’s not here, she told herself, turning on the radio. Stepping on the gas, listening to Adele’s voice, she wondered if she’d ever feel safe again.

Of course not. Until he’s locked up or dead, you’ll always be looking over your shoulder. You’ll never have peace. You know what you have to do, don’t you? Either find a way to send him to prison forever, or kill the son of a bitch.

That thought was unsettling and she checked the rearview mirror often on her drive home. No one followed her, at least no one that she could pinpoint in her mirrors. No tracks of any kind had broken through the snow to her cabin, it seemed, since she’d left.

Good. She let out a breath and walked inside, found the cabin just as she’d left it. “There’s no place like home,” she said, and wished she had a dog or a cat or even a parakeet. Something living to greet her, something she could talk to. Maybe a dog. One that would guard the place and put up a ruckus if anyone was lurking outside, one that could smell if an intruder had been inside. She warmed to the idea. Maybe.

After locking the door, Jessica threw her keys onto the scarred coffee table and tried to shake off her case of nerves. She turned on the television, then as it started glowing, the volume low, she double-checked the tiny rooms in the cabin to make certain she was alone. Once she knew the place was secure and the stained shades were drawn, she stoked the fire and space heater, then quickly stripped out of her uniform, body suit, wig, and contacts.

Earlier, she’d cleaned the phone booth–sized shower with liberal amounts of bleach and Pine-Sol though some stains refused to fade. She didn’t care. The tiles were disinfected. She was bone tired and felt the diner’s grease clinging to her skin. She stepped under a weak spray of lukewarm water, then lathered her body and her hair. For a second, she remembered another shower where the hot steam fogged the glass and the wide stall was equipped with multiple sprays and glistening tiles.