Leslie Parrish - Fade To Black

Dean wondered just how much this man actually knew about his rights. Because if he was stupid enough to shoot and kill anyone merely for stepping over his property line, the guy would be looking at manslaughter at the very least.

“We’ve talked about this, Warren. There’s a big difference between protecting yourself if someone breaks into your house and you coming out here to look for trouble.”

The tension drew out a moment longer, as the big, gruff-looking man continued to glare. Then, slowly, as if someone had poured a modicum of malicious pleasure into his brain, a creaky smile cracked his face. It looked more menacing than friendly, as though it didn’t get a lot of use.

“Good luck on your search,” he said with a sarcastic salute.

The smile widened, going from creaky to crafty.

All Dean’s senses reacted to the change. He almost smelled the malevolent humor rolling off the man, as if he had a great, dark secret and knew the sheriff was wasting her time. He stepped forward, wanting to question Lee about whether he really knew something, as his expression and tone seemed to indicate. Before he could, though, Mr. Lee started the engine and revved it up.

“Stay on that side of the fence,” Lee called before speeding away.

When he was gone, Stacey questioned her deputies. “Tell me everything he said and did.”

Exactly what Dean wanted to know. Seeing her deep frown, he wondered if Stacey, too, had been struck by the unfriendly man’s strange mood swing.

Her men, despite their rusty radio skills, proved pretty observant. They succinctly related the details of Mr. Lee’s arrival, his belligerent attitude, and his comments. One thing was apparent: He did not immediately question what they were doing. He had been focused only on whether they were coming too close to his own property.

“He didn’t ask what you were looking for?”

The deputy who’d been doing most of the talking, a middle-aged guy with a bulbous red nose, answered, “Nope, he never did. Only…”

Stacey stiffened. “Only what?”

“Only, Carl mighta said something about us investigating a murder.”

“Shit,” Dean muttered.

The last thing they wanted was to tip off the Reaper that they were onto him. Getting out here and conducting a search as secretly as possible had been one reason for keeping the response team so small, despite the availability of some of Stacey’s other officers. They did not want to scare the guy off and send him into hiding.

The revelation also made his impressions of Warren Lee tighten to a sharper point, a tension that pounded into his gut like every good instinct did. Because that man had known something. Dean would stake his career on it.

“God, I don’t want to deal with this.”

Stacey’s heavy sigh reminded him that there was yet another reason they didn’t want word to get out. When he saw her rub a weary hand over her eyes, and noted the slump of her shoulders, he knew what she was thinking.

“I’m going to have to go talk to Winnie Freed,” she mumbled. “Lisa’s mother.”

Dean stepped closer, instinct making him drop a hand on her shoulder. “So soon?”

She nodded. “ Warren ’s going to be screaming to anybody who’ll listen that we’re trampling on his rights while looking for a murder victim. There’s only one missing person in this whole town. Word will get back to Winnie by nightfall.” She finally appeared to notice Dean’s hand. Staring at it, then casting a quick glance at her deputies, she stepped away, but not before offering him a small nod of appreciation. “I’ve never had to do that before. Personally notify the next of kin.”

It was her job; she’d have to do it sooner or later, but he didn’t envy her. He’d delivered that kind of news enough to know she was in for a rough scene. And her friendliness with the family was going to make it harder.

“Let me come with you,” he offered. The idea made sense. He, Stokes, and Mulrooney would need to question the victim’s family and friends. They’d intended to start after completing the entire search, but the potential exposure of the reason for their presence in Hope Valley had put them up against a ticking clock. Interviews were the better bet right now. Compiling a list of suspects, people who’d known Lisa, who’d been at the tavern that night, who frequently left town, who flashed new money around. There were lots of questions to ask, lots of people to talk to. The victim’s soon-to-be-grieving mother was as good a place to start as any.

There was another clock clicking even louder in Dean’s mind. The one at Satan’s Playground. Another auction was going down soon; it could already have taken place. As much as he wanted to locate Lisa’s body, he already feared that any evidence they found wouldn’t give them enough to nail the bastard in time to stop him.

Or to save whomever he targeted next.

Amber Torrington’s day had blown from the start.

First, her lame parents had refused to pay the deductible to repair her dented car. As if it was her fault dumb-ass drivers kept pulling out in front of her, or going too slow, causing her to hit them.

She’d broken a nail and couldn’t get an appointment to have it fixed for two days. Time to find another nail salon, because they’d been rude on the phone when she’d demanded that they squeeze her in.

Then Justin had told her he hadn’t been able to score tickets for tomorrow night’s concert she’d been dying to go to. That fat cow Kelsey had acted all disappointed for her, rubbing it in that she had tickets. She’d even had the nerve to ask Amber to use her employee discount so she could get something new to wear to it.

This had to be her worst hair day ever. She felt a zit forming on her chin. And her psycho of a boss at the trendy shop where she worked had spent the last hour, after closing, grilling her about some missing clothes until they’d ended up in a screaming match.

Might be time to get another job. One where she could wear all her new clothes.

Thank God the day was almost over. There was only an hour for something else to go wrong in her life. God, what she wouldn’t give to get into her convertible, head for 95, and drive south. Florida would be good. Anywhere but the boringest place on the planet, known as Rockville, MD.

Imagining riding with the top down along the coast-maybe with some Southern hottie who’d be way better than Justin-she didn’t even notice that she was not alone until she almost ran into the black-cloaked figure in front of her.

“Watch where you’re going, dickhead,” she snapped when the guy stepped in her way as she walked through the darkened parking lot to her car. Too bad she hadn’t parked it close to the mall exit. She always left her baby way out in nowhereland so no careless asshole would open his door and ding it up. But since it was already banged up from last weekend’s fender-bender, she needn’t have bothered.

“Can you help me?” asked the guy who’d almost bumped into her.

“No, I can’t. Now get the hell out of the way.”

“That’s not very nice,” he whispered. “Not very ladylike.”

Finally really looking at him, she noticed his clothes. He wore a long, dark coat, with the collar turned up to shield most of his face. On his head, covering his hair and tugged almost down over his eyes, was a plain black baseball cap. Not exactly normal dress for eleven o’clock on a hot summer night.

Suddenly uncomfortable, she stepped to the side, to go around him. He mirrored the movement, blocking her again.

“What’s wrong with you? Are you some kind of a retard?”

He tsk ed, shaking his head. “You’re a very mean girl. Nasty. Somebody should do something about that.”