He stood. “If you have time, we can head over there right now.”
“I have nothing but time,” she replied, and also stood. “I’ll follow you to the motel.”
Before they left, a female officer swabbed the inside of Adrienne’s mouth for the DNA test that would positively confirm Wendy’s identity, but to Adrienne it was a moot point. She already knew that it was Wendy.
Minutes later, she followed the patrol car and wondered if the motel room still held the hint of Wendy’s scent, that exotic patchouli-based perfume that she’d practically bathed in.
If Adrienne smelled a trace of her sister, it would be a bittersweet heartbreak all over again. She and Wendy had had so many issues between them, and Adrienne had always thought there would be time to resolve them.
She hadn’t mentioned to Chief Bowie her tentative partnership with Nick Coleman. She had a feeling the lawman wouldn’t approve and would warn her to leave the investigation to the authorities, and she simply wasn’t willing to do that.
She couldn’t help but remember what Nick had said about six other skeletons. It had been only three days, and already Chief Bowie looked exhausted. There was no way she intended to leave the investigation to an overworked chief of police and his small band of men.
Although she was sorry for the other people found with Wendy’s body, finding Wendy’s killer was her sole concern. And she couldn’t believe that those skeletons had anything to do with Wendy’s murder. Whatever had happened to those people had to have happened years ago for the remains to be skeletal. Surely the only connection to those dead souls and Wendy was the coincidence of their burial site. Still...she supposed she had to consider that there might be a possible link.
They reached the motel, and Adrienne parked in front of her unit. The lawman stopped in the office, probably to get a key, and then pulled his car in front of the door that had the horrifying black-and-yellow crime scene tape across it.
Adrienne got out of her car, her feet suddenly dragging as she walked toward the unit where her sister had lived for the two months she had been in Bitterroot.
Dillon ripped the crime scene tape off, balled it up into a wad and then used a key to unlock the door. He opened it and gestured for Adrienne to go inside.
Her heart beat a frantic rhythm, and a deep dread overwhelmed her as she stepped over the threshold. She wasn’t sure what she expected, but what she found was a neat and clean motel room exactly like the one she had checked into the night before.
There was no sign of a struggle, no blood spattering the walls, and her heart found a more normal beat. There was also no scent of Wendy lingering in the air.
She walked into the bathroom, although she knew the chief and his men had probably already looked there. There was nothing to find, nothing left of Wendy and no hint that anything untold had happened here.
She left the bathroom and noticed the hand-size glass bluebird figurine on the windowsill in front of the small table. Her blood froze, and for a long moment, she couldn’t make herself move.
“Ms. Bailey?” Dillon’s voice seemed to come from very far away as she continued to stare at the bluebird. “Ms. Bailey? Adrienne, are you all right?”
He took a step toward her and broke the trance of horror she had momentarily stumbled into. She gazed at him, his face shimmering beneath the tears that had sprung into her eyes.
“No, I’m not okay.” She pointed to the glass bird on the sill. “That belongs to Wendy. It was her most prized possession. Our mother gave it to her just before she died. Wendy would have never left it behind. It would have been the first thing she packed to leave here.”
Dillon frowned. “You don’t think it’s possible she just forgot and accidentally left it behind?”
“Never,” she replied adamantly. “That bluebird went everywhere with her.”
Dillon’s frown deepened. “Then, it’s possible your sister didn’t pack her own things before she left. Somebody else did it for her, somebody who didn’t know the bluebird belonged to her or at least how important it was to her.”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” Adrienne looked around the room that had now taken on an ominous aura. “This is where the crime began,” she said softly. “Whatever happened to Wendy started here.”
“I’ll get some men out here to do a more thorough examination,” Dillon said, his eyes appearing even more tired. “Maybe we can pick up some fingerprints or forensic evidence that can be used to find the killer.”
“Can I take the bluebird with me?” she asked.
“I’m sorry, not right now. If what you believe is true, then it is part of the crime scene. I’ll see to it that you get it back when we’re finished processing everything.”
After a promise to stay in touch, Dillon got on his cell phone and Adrienne walked to her own unit, unlocked the door and then sat on the edge of the bed.
Her mind whirled with images of Wendy in her room, being forced to pack her belongings and drive to whatever location to meet her death. Had Wendy purposely left the bluebird behind as a clue that she’d been forced to leave under duress?
Had Nick Coleman been in the room, forcing Wendy to gather her things and load them into her car? Or had it been a nameless stranger who had seen Wendy as a vulnerable target?
Adrienne knew that if she sat and allowed her mind to work over what little she’d learned so far, she’d drive herself crazy, so she decided to spend a couple of hours doing real work.
She’d set up her computer last night on the small dining table, along with several folders of active clients who depended on her expertise.
She’d struggled for years as a freelance book publicist, augmenting her finances by cleaning houses and working fast food during the hours when Wendy was in school. She’d been willing to do whatever it took to keep a roof over her and her sister’s head, utilities functioning and food on the table.
It was only in the past couple of years and the birth of self-publishing authors that her business had exploded and become more successful than she’d ever dreamed possible.
As always, it didn’t take her long to lose herself in the work of making authors visible to readers and to get good books the kind of publicity they deserved.
The rumbling of her stomach finally pulled her from the work, and she was surprised to realize twilight had fallen and the room had grown dim.
She closed the curtains at the window and then turned on the lamp next to the bed and the small overhead light in the kitchenette area.
She had arrived in Bitterroot certain that Nick and Wendy had been lovers and that he was responsible for her murder. Yet when he had spoken about Wendy this morning, it had been with real affection, without any hint of any romantic love. He’d confused her. The fact that Chief Bowie had said that he found it difficult to believe that any of the men who worked the Holiday ranch was a killer confused her even more.
Was Nick just that good at hiding an evil inside him? Or was he truly as innocent as he proclaimed?
