Mariah Stewart - Dead End

“I thought you’d never ask.” Mara smiled and joined him on the dance floor.

“Beautiful wedding, Mara,” he said.

“Oh, thank you. I’m so glad it didn’t get humid. You know how it gets here in Pennsylvania in the summer. It can really swelter.”

“Well, you lucked out, all around.” He moved her around the dance floor in time to the music. “Everything is perfect.”

She nodded somewhat absently, and he caught her looking over his shoulder.

“What?” he asked.

“We should be leaving soon, but I’m afraid it’s going to be hard to tear Aidan away from his family.”

“On his wedding night? I doubt it.”

“It’s been a difficult day for them-for Aidan and his dad and his brother and the rest of them. This is really the first big family event since Dylan died, and they’re all missing him so much.” Her eyes flickered, and she looked up at him. “Probably not so easy for you, either, but for a different reason, right?”

He shrugged.

“The Shieldses are a tough group, Evan,” Mara said, as if that were all the explanation necessary.

“Honey,” he said softly, “it’s your wedding. They should let you have your day and not turn it into a memorial service for a man who’s been dead for more than two years.”

Her cheeks flushed, and he instantly regretted his words.

“I’m sorry, Mara. I shouldn’t have…”

“It’s okay. And you’re right. I know I should say something, but they are just a little intimidating when they’re all together. And I don’t think any of them ever got over him dying like that, the way he did. I know Aidan is still having a lot of issues because of the way he died.”

“Look, how about if I go on over there and see if I can get Aidan’s attention.”

“That would be great. Thanks, Evan. Maybe just let him know that he needs to watch the time, and that I’m ready to leave whenever he is.”

He left Mara with the same friend she’d earlier been chatting with and somehow managed to breach the edge of the circle that was gathered around Thomas Shields and his two sons. Between Aidan and Connor sat Annie, looking very much a part of the clan. Evan managed to catch Aidan’s eye and mouthed that Mara needed to talk to him. A quick glance at his watch reminded Aidan why. He nodded and excused himself quietly. Evan stepped back to let him pass, pausing, trying to decide the best way to get Annie’s attention. But she was absorbed in a story Grady was telling about one time when they were younger and he’d had the bad judgment to challenge Dylan to a pitching contest, the prize being Grady’s new bike. Dylan, who’d been scouted by several pro baseball teams as a senior in college, had all but taken his cousin’s head off with his fastball and, at the end of the exercise, had driven off on Grady’s bike, whistling “Take Me Out to the Ball Game.”

Evan stepped back and away from the crowd. Still on the fringes, he watched Annie for a few more minutes, but she never glanced his way. He walked out of the tent toward the parking lot and disappeared into the night.

He drove around for forty minutes trying to decide what to do. When his phone rang, he answered on the first ring.

“ Crosby.”

He listened for a moment, then turned his car around in the next parking lot.

“I’m on my way.”

He headed for Belle Mead, a small town four miles away, where another young girl lay dead, and tried to ignore the fact that his first reaction had been relief of sorts for having been provided with an excuse for having left the wedding.

He knew that it was Annie he’d left behind, and that sooner or later he’d have to deal with that. For now, he could simply tell her he’d been called away, and rather than making a scene at the wedding, he’d thought it best to just slip out quietly. Surely she’d understand. She was, after all, with the FBI.

She’s also a shrink, he reminded himself, and more likely than not would see right through that smoke screen.

Well, so be it. He’d deal with it.

And sooner or later, they’d both have to deal with the fact that while Dylan Shields was gone, he sure as hell wasn’t forgotten.

Anne Marie sat at the red light and speed-dialed Evan’s cell phone for the fourth time. He always had his phone with him, and it was always turned on. Why wasn’t he picking up?

Maybe he’s in a meeting and has the volume turned down. Or maybe he’s at a crime scene and can’t take the call. She glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It was almost two in the afternoon. He could be home, sleeping. Maybe he’d been out on a case all night and had only been home for a few hours. Not unusual for a homicide detective to play catch-up during the day if he’d been up for more than twenty-four hours.

She’d find out soon enough. She was less than six miles from West Lyndon and Evan’s townhouse.

She closed up her phone and tossed it onto the passenger’s seat, and tried to ignore the uneasiness that had been haunting her since she’d looked for Evan at the wedding and found that he was gone.

That had been three days ago. She hadn’t heard from him since, despite having left several messages for him on his home, office, and cell phones.

Not a good sign. Definitely not a good sign.

As she turned the corner onto Evan’s street, she was surprised to see his car parked out front. Annie pulled into the space behind his and turned off her engine. Walking alongside then in front of his car, she placed her hand on the hood. It was cold. The car had been there for a while.

Okay, so I was probably right about him sleeping.

She slipped the key he’d given her three months ago, when their relationship passed from occasional to steady, into the lock. Assuming that he was in fact asleep, she opened the door and quietly entered the townhouse then paused in the foyer. From the basement, she could hear music. Loud blues, which grew louder with every step she took in the direction of the steps leading downstairs.

“Evan?” she called.

“Yo!”

Well, if nothing else, he was awake.

She descended the steps into the long, narrow space Evan had been working on for the past year. His goal was to have a fully operational family room-complete with wide-screen TV, a bar, and a built-in stereo-before next Christmas. For months, he’d barely had time to work on it. Today, he appeared to be determined to make up for lost time.

In the center of the room, Evan stood over a table saw. At his feet, a pile of two-by-fours was stacked unevenly. He turned on the saw and proceeded to cut first one, then another, of the lengths of wood until they were all of a uniform size. Annie sat on the third step from the bottom, watching the pile grow, making mental bets with herself as to how many minutes would pass before he would turn around and talk to her.

Finally, she stood up, unplugged the saw, and turned off the radio.

“Why, yes, I was able to find a ride home from the wedding, nice of you to inquire.”

“Any one of a dozen people would have been more than happy to see you home on Friday night. I knew you’d have no problem getting a ride.” No longer able to cut, he started to stack the wood in an obsessively neat pile, an attempt on his part, she knew, to concentrate on anything other than her.

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?” Her eyes narrowed. “You knew someone else would take me home after you dumped me?”

“I didn’t dump you. I got called out.”

“Not another…?”

“Yup.”

“Same as the others?”

“The same-but different this time.”

“Are you going to elaborate?”

“Same MO. Throat slashed. Vic is the same age as the others, but no one seems to know who she is. No ID. No one’s reported her missing. And she’s Hispanic. The others have all been white, reported missing before the bodies were found. This girl, it’s like she came out of nowhere. I’m not sure what to make of that.”