a purple bag on the kitchen counter, why?”
“The killer came after her at the hospital. I’m trying to figure out how he knew who she was since she claims he didn’t see her face.”
“Wait, so she saw him, called for help and took off with a dog in her arms?”
“That is correct. I’m wondering if the perp took her wallet, which was how he identified her.”
“I saw a wallet on the counter.”
Nate went to the kitchen where Cassie’s wallet, made from colorful duct tape, lay next to a bright purple bag. Cassie probably made the wallet herself, he mused. A few inches away he spotted a key chain with small charms: silver cross, flower, Union Jack flag, Eiffel Tower and kangaroo.
Fingering the keys made him wonder about the killer.
“Vaughn?” he called.
She popped her head out of the bedroom. “Sir?”
“Are we thinking the suspect escaped on foot? There were no cars in the area other than Cassie’s.”
“Someone spotted a black sedan at the Snoquamish trailhead. We’re looking into it,” Vaughn said.
“Good.” He redirected his attention to Cassie’s wallet.
He started to analyze the contents. Her round face smiled back at him from her driver’s license. The killer would only have to glance at the license to determine Cassie’s name and address.
Nate’s fingers dug into the plastic wallet.
The address on her license was the farmhouse.
Cassie tossed and turned in bed. Couldn’t sleep. She hadn’t spent the night at the farmhouse in months. Being back here, staying in her old room, brought back memories of a darker time, a time when she felt weak and helpless.
As she glanced out the window at a familiar tree, memories rushed back, bringing with them the irrational and paralyzing fear of being stuck in bed for the rest of her life.
She hopped out of bed, put her fleece on over her pajamas and grabbed her phone. A sip of water would stop this line of thinking. It always had in the past.
Heading toward the stairs, the sound of voices drifted from the first floor. Her mom and Harvey were talking in the living room.
Cassie hesitated at the top of the stairs.
“You should try and go back to sleep,” Harvey said.
“I can’t. I keep thinking about my daughter finding a dead body. She must be traumatized,” her mom said.
“She’s a tough cookie, Margaret.”
“But she’s not talking about it, at least not to me. I don’t know what I ever did to put such distance between us. We were so close when she was a child.”
Cassie gripped the cherrywood railing. If only she could articulate how her mom’s overprotectiveness made Cassie feel like she couldn’t breathe. But she struggled to find the right words. She’d never want to come off as disrespectful, and she’d certainly never want to hurt Mom’s feelings.
“Kids go through awkward stages, then they grow out of it,” Harvey offered.
“Yeah, when they’re sixteen, not twenty-six,” her mom answered. “I wish she would open up. I could help.”
“Maybe she doesn’t want to worry you.”
“Too late for that.”
A moment of silence, then, “How about some more coffee?” her mom offered.
“That would be great.”
“And cookies?”
“If you got ’em.”
“I always have cookies.”
Cassie could just imagine the wry smile playing across her mother’s lips. She was known as the “sweet queen,” the woman who baked every day, always trying out a new recipe.
Too bad Cassie didn’t inherit the baking gene. Her sister Bree seemed to get all the talent in that department.
Hearing her mom walk into the kitchen, Cassie decided to join Harvey in the living room. The sixtysomething former security manager, with a crewcut and kind blue eyes, had a grounding presence she appreciated. She went downstairs, and he looked up as she paused in the doorway.
“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked.
She shook her head, entering the living room and flopping down in a chair.
“You’ve had quite the night,” he offered.
“No kidding.”
“You hanging in there?”
“Always do.” She offered a smile.
Suddenly the lights went out, plunging them into darkness.
“Harvey?” Mom’s concerned voice called.
He clicked on a small flashlight and pointed it toward the kitchen. “Probably the wind, Margaret. We’re coming to you.”
Just then his phone beeped with a text. The blue light illuminated his frown of concern as he read the message.
“What is it?” Cassie asked.
“Chief’s on his way. The suspect might know this address.” Harvey pulled a firearm out of his boot.
Panic stung the back of her throat. It wasn’t only her life being threatened, it was her mom’s life, as well—the nurturing, compassionate matriarch of the McBride clan.
“Should we call 911?” Cassie asked Harvey.
“Chief took care of it. Let’s get to your mom.”
The nearly full moon lit the house through the sheer curtains covering the windows.
As Cassie and Harvey went into the kitchen, her heartbeat quickened. This was where they’d found Aiden, bloodied and semiconscious after the break-in last year. When Cassie glanced up and noticed the pale look on her mom’s face, she shoved back the traumatic memory. She had to be strong.
“It’s okay,” Harvey said to her mom. “I’m not gonna let anything happen to you ladies.”
The image of the dead woman in the Whispering Pines cabin flashed across Cassie’s mind. Shovel Man had no problem killing or trying to kidnap a witness from a public place.
A red light blinked on the panel beside the back door.
Someone
