Ironic.

Fated?

Or just plain bad luck?

Carter had talked to the detectives from the OSP and had admitted he’d been avoiding Roxie Olmstead as well as anyone else from the press prior to her disappearance. Now, of course, he was second-guessing himself and was fighting his own personal battle with guilt demons about the accident. If he’d granted her an interview, would she be alive today?

There’s no evidence that she’s dead. Remember that. You’re looking for a missing woman, not a dead one.

But deep down, he felt a dread so vile, he couldn’t face it. Didn’t want to be the first to say the words “serial killer” when there were no bodies to suggest the horrid thought.

Nonetheless, he couldn’t help wondering, had he granted her an interview earlier, would she have traveled that stretch of road? Been hit from behind? Been abducted?

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered to himself as the police band radio crackled and he passed the theater. Christmas lights burned around the windows and a backlit sign reminded everyone that tickets were currently on sale for the troupe’s next production, a local version of It’s a Wonderful Life.

Since when? Carter thought, his mood as gray as the clouds overhead. At least it wasn’t snowing. Crews had finally managed to scrape and sand the roads and electricity had been restored to all but a handful of citizens of Lewis County, but the temperature was still below freezing and now the ice floes in the river were beginning to cause concern. Sleet mixed with snow in the higher elevations and wasn’t supposed to improve.

He noticed Jenna Hughes’s Jeep was parked in the theater’s lot and he wondered if she’d hired Turnquist or if she was still looking for a bodyguard. He didn’t like to think of her and her girls alone and isolated at their ranch. Since he had a few minutes before he was officially on duty, he pulled into the lot. Before he second-guessed his reasons, he headed up the steps to the front doors and walked into the theater.

Music was playing from the speakers and he heard the sound of voices coming from the lower level. His boots ringing along the hardwood, he made his way to the sound and found Rinda and Jenna bending over a computer screen.

“Hey, handsome,” Rinda said, standing and hugging Carter before holding him at arm’s length and studying him. “Bad morning?”

“Aren’t they all?”

Rinda rolled her eyes, but Jenna, leaning against the desk, actually cracked a smile. And what a smile it was. Damned near radiant. Probably practiced.

“I saw your Jeep out front and I wondered how things were going. You hired Turnquist, right?”

She nodded.

“But he’s not here.”

“He took the kids to school and is going back home. We have a deal. He stays overnight in the studio over the garage so that he’s got a bird’s-eye view of the place, and we’ve got cell phones and walkie-talkies on all the time.” As if she read the questions in Carter’s eyes, she added, “Look, I’m freaked out, of course I am, but I can’t have someone breathing down my neck every second of the day. I have to have a little privacy. Some independence.”

“The security system’s working?”

“So far, so good. Jake’s double-checked everything and he walks the perimeter every night…I feel a whole lot safer. Thanks.”

“Just do what he says.”

Rinda let out an exasperated breath, “The polite response is ‘You’re welcome.’ Jesus, Carter, when will you quit being such a hard-ass?”

“When I think things are safe.”

“Things are never safe,” Rinda pointed out, her good mood dissolving. “But yeah, right now it’s not a great time around here. First Sonja and then Roxie.” She clucked her tongue and rubbed her arms. “I don’t suppose you have any news on either one of them.”

“Not yet.”

“Jesus. I hate this. Roxie was a good kid. Headstrong, but, well, she was young.”

“You knew her?”

“Not all that well, but when Scott and I moved back here from California, I met Lila, Roxie’s mom. We were both newly divorced and so we connected. Scott hung out with Roxie even though she was a couple of years older.”

The door to the theater opened and footsteps heralded Wes Allen’s arrival. “Hey, what’s going on…?” His gaze clashed with Carter’s. “Shane,” he said and nodded, though his smile was forced. Had been for years. To think they’d all been friends once.

“Wes.”

Tags: Lisa Jackson West Coast Mystery
Source: readsnovelonline.net