had been abandoned here in her car seat two and a half years ago. Scott and Meg had found Emily’s mother, murdered, the next day. Somehow she must have persuaded her killer to leave the baby where Scott would find her. But he had admitted once to Abby that he still had nightmares about having bunked down at the lodge, as he used to do sometimes. In his dreams he came out to his car at dawn to find the little girl dead. Frozen, eerily pink in the morning light. He’d shuddered when he described the nightmare.
Abby stole a look at Scott now, standing behind the Jeep, staring at the night. Was he, like Abby, wondering whether somebody sick enough to create such a macabre tableau was capable of carrying through on the implicit threat? Was Emily in danger? Will? Or Meg, too pregnant to defend herself from attack?
Were they all?
“Okay,” Ben said, startling her from her dark thoughts. “Scott, I wasn’t here the night you found Emily. Tell me about it. What did this guy get right? What did he get wrong?”
They discussed positioning; both times, the child’s seat had faced the parking lot and highway, so that Scott had been looking at the back as he approached.
“Which may have been chance, with Emily,” Abby pointed out, “but tonight you know dam well this SOB did it so Scott couldn’t see what was in the seat until he got here. Suspense and shock value.”
Scott grunted. “Otherwise, this is a different kind of car seat. It’s been around the block. Look at the tears. They didn’t make ones like this anymore even when...” his hesitation was barely perceptible “... when my ex-wife and I had our little boy. I think these were designed for babies up to six months old or so. Most of the seats nowadays are convertible.”
Ben made a note. “We’ll check secondhand stores. We can talk to people that had garage sales this past week or so, too.”
“The...doll isn’t dressed anything like Emily was that night.” Scott rubbed his chin. “Maybe he didn’t feel the need to bother with details. God knows, the general message has plenty of punch.”
“You could say that,” Ben agreed dryly. “On the other hand, maybe our friend was dependent on what was printed in the newspaper. Anybody remember how much was written about Emily?”
“Not that much,” Scott said. “Remember, we didn’t find Shelly’s body until the next day. By the time reporters heard about Emily’s abandonment and made the connection, nobody was asking what Emily had been wearing. The focus was on Shelly’s murder and her heroism in saving her daughter. Somebody might have mentioned that Emily was warmly dressed. I don’t remember.”
None of them could help looking at the doll, her bare plastic legs sticking out from beneath the skirt of the pink dress. Socks on both feet, one shoe.
No head.
Ben seemed to shake himself. “Let me get some pictures, and then I’ll take the seat. We’ll let the crime lab go over it. The guy had to have touched the doll. Maybe he was careless.”
Abby doubted it.
The flash created bursts of brilliant light as Ben worked. After he was done, he put on latex gloves and lifted the whole child seat into the rear of his Ford Bronco. When Scott wasn’t watching, Abby saw Ben lift the doll’s skirt. Earlier, before he came, she had done the same. Thank God the creep who’d wrenched the doll’s head from the socket, who’d dripped fake—or real?—blood from her neck, hadn’t committed any outrage with a sexual connotation on the realistic plastic body. She was equally grateful that Scott, who didn’t spend his days dealing with the scumbags of the universe, hadn’t even considered such a possibility.
Or else he’d checked before Abby’s arrival.
Ben peeled off the gloves and held out a hand to Scott. “I’ll let you know what we find. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you to keep an extra close eye on Emily.”
“Have Will be careful, too,” Abby added. “Make sure Meg locks the doors even during the day.”
A muscle jumped in Scott’s cheek. “You can be sure of that.”
“Has anyone told Murray what’s going on?” Ben asked. “I assume Will spends time with him.”
“There’s more than that.” Ashamed to be responsible for excluding Jack Murray—who was, after all, Will’s father as well as the sheriff—Abby admitted, “He’s pretty closely connected to us. As much as Daniel’s mother.”
“Because of Will?”
“Because he dated Meg.” She added deliberately, “And me. If...if this is someone who knew us back when...”
“Does Meg know...” Scott hesitated, giving a brief cough. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”
“No. She doesn’t know I dated Jack.” Abby heard the bite in her voice. “Why would she care?”
Looking stiff, Scott said, “I spoke out of turn.”
“Tell her.” Abby gave an elaborate shrug and turned away. “Suit yourself. It’s more Patton history. We know how to write it.”
“You can tell her,” Scott said quietly. “If you choose to.” He touched her shoulder. “Thanks for coming, Abby.”
She watched him climb into his Jeep Cherokee and slam the door. A moment later, he backed out.
Aware of Ben, a silent witness to her admission, Abby said, “Well? What do you think?”
“That you’re pretty steamed at your sister. Care to tell me why?”
“Why’s a good word.” She hugged herself, the chill of a mountain night penetrating her bones. “As in, why would I? Like I said, it’s ancient history. Which means it’s none of your business.”
Sounding brusque—which she deserved—Ben said, “Unless it has something to do with these cute little messages you guys are getting. Or with the fact that you’re mad at me for no reason I can see.”
“I’m not mad...” Abby bit her lip. She hated having to apologize. Hated knowing she had behaved so gracelessly. “I’m sorry. This scares me. I don’t like feeling scared. I’m taking it out on you.”
“Tell me straight.” Ben hadn’t moved; his voice hadn’t softened. “Do you think the fact that you and your sister both dated Murray has anything to do with these threats?”
She walked a few steps, closed her eyes. Sighed. “No. Who knows what set this guy off? Not some guy my big sister and I both saw.”
“Just don’t hold back on me.”
Abby whirled around. “I haven’t yet! I wouldn’t. It’s not me I’m scared for.”
He moved then, taking a step toward her, lifting a hand as though to touch her but stopping short of doing so. “This was symbolic. We have no reason to think this guy intends to hurt Emily.”
“Maybe not,” Abby said tautly, “but there’s a pretty strong suggestion of violence here, wouldn’t you say?”
“We’ll
