All the Pretty Faces (11 page)

Eddie’s photos were so
real
looking, though. This way the director could actually see her as the character.

Her fear of heights be damned. She’d do anything to get this part and not have to go back to Leroy.

Dane didn’t trust Porter McCray, but he needed proof before he could make an arrest. “I’ll need a list of everyone you talked to at the party.”

A chuckle rumbled from the man. “I don’t know everyone’s names or contact information, Agent Hamrick. It was an informal gathering. Booze was flowing. Everyone was all hyped up, talking about the auditions and Miss DuKane’s book.”

“Just make a list of anyone you remember. I need to talk to them and verify your story.”

McCray’s eye twitched. “Don’t you mean you need to question them and see if they murdered Charity?”

“Since you’re such a study of characters, I’m surprised you weren’t more observant,” Dane said. “Maybe one of the other guests noticed something you didn’t.”

His jab hit home. A spark of anger jolted McCray’s confidence.

Dane gave him a stony look. “Make the list and get it to me.” He shoved a business card in McCray’s hand. “Don’t leave town either.”

McCray waved a hand around, gesturing toward the signs for the film. “I’m not going anywhere. They can’t make this story without Billy Linder, and that’s me.”

The sheer cockiness of his tone set Dane’s teeth on edge. Yet he had that wired look about him as if he wasn’t quite all there mentally.

McCray angled his head toward Josie. “Let me know if you change your mind about running through some scenes with me.”

“I won’t,” Josie said sharply.

He lifted one eyebrow. “Then perhaps we can have coffee and talk. I have several questions—”

“Leave me alone,” Josie said. “I refuse to relive the past for you.”

“You asked the victims’ families to relive it,” McCray pointed out.

Josie’s face lost its color.

Dane admired her for standing up to the bastard, but he didn’t trust the son of a bitch. He inched closer to McCray to block him from touching Josie.

“You heard the lady,” Dane said. “Stay away from her or you’ll answer to me.”

McCray lifted his head defiantly, gave him a sinister smile, and walked away.

Dane ground his molars. He had a bad feeling he hadn’t seen the last of the man.

If McCray bothered Josie, his badge be damned. He’d do whatever was necessary to keep him away from her.

He knew which ones were bad girls. Which ones were dispensable.

Oh, their pretty faces smiled at him from his wall of photographs. They smiled because they were beautiful.

Some of them even changed their names to become the person they wanted to be.

They had come from dust and bones just as he had. They would return to dust and bones in the end.

Then everyone would see them as they were underneath the façade.

Naked. Ugly. Desperate. Alone.

Crying for attention.

Dying to be loved.

They wouldn’t need love once they were dead.

CHAPTER TEN

Josie tried to hide her discomfort around McCray. Men like him enjoyed watching women squirm. She refused to give him the satisfaction.

Dane guided her away from McCray. “If he bothers you again, let me know.”

“Do you think he killed that woman?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t like him. No man in his right mind would suggest role-playing murder to a woman who’d been kidnapped by a serial killer.”

Josie drew in a deep breath as they stepped outside. She needed fresh air, but the strong wind made the trees sway and tossed leaves and twigs across the quadrangle. In spite of the heavy dark clouds, locals, spectators, and actors were scattered across the grassy area mingling as if they were oblivious to the threat of bad weather.

Or death.

One couple about her age shared a picnic, their affection for each other obvious. They looked so happy. Carefree. Normal.

Would she ever be normal? Allow herself to fall in love and have a family?

Or would she always be guarded, distrustful, looking over her shoulder for men like Billy Linder?

She searched Dane’s face for pity or derision. “That’s how you see me, isn’t it, Dane? As a victim?”

Not a woman a man would want to be with.

“You were a victim,” Dane said matter-of-factly.

Frustration filled Josie. “That’s not all I am.”

Dane angled his head toward her, his eyes darkening. The whistle of the wind echoed around them, heat brewing between them.

Or maybe she was imagining it. Dane was entrenched in a case. She had to remember that. Just because she was attracted to him didn’t mean he reciprocated that feeling.

“I’m sorry, Josie,” Dane said softly. “I’m not labeling you. I understand you’ve worked hard to overcome what happened to you, and that’s admirable.”

She blinked back tears. Maybe he did understand after all.

“You’re right,” she conceded, the tension between them making her ache to reach out and touch him. To have him wrap his arms around her and comfort her. Because no matter how much she’d worked to forget her abduction, she hadn’t forgotten it and never would. “I don’t trust McCray. He may be dangerous.”

“Good. You shouldn’t trust him.” A hint of sadness touched his eyes. “Although I’m sorry for that. I’m sure it’s difficult to trust anyone after the ordeal you went through.”

Yes, it was. Although she trusted Dane.

At least with her life.

She couldn’t trust her heart to anyone. It was better not to love than love someone who didn’t return that love.

“I should go,” Dane said. “I have more people to question, and I need to carry this computer to the lab.”

Josie nodded. He was back to business. They had to keep it that way.

Olive appeared beside Josie, shading the sun from her eyes as she approached. “Josie, I’m getting ready to watch some auditions for the part of Billy Linder. I thought you might want to join me. Of all people here, you know him best.”

Josie twined her hands together. Yes, she did. His voice, his mannerisms, his demented eyes and laugh—they were forever etched in her mind.

Dane tucked Charity’s computer into his vehicle and locked it inside. He spent the rest of the afternoon working with Sheriff Kimball questioning the film production’s staff and actors.

Unfortunately, he and the sheriff learned nothing helpful. The few folks who remembered Charity thought she was attractive, sweet, friendly, and that she had as good a chance at landing a part as anyone else.

One California blonde claimed Charity wasn’t sophisticated enough for the business, but since the characters in the film were small-town country girls, Charity might fit.

Dane gritted his teeth. Just because a person was born and raised in the South and spoke with an accent didn’t mean they were less intelligent, savvy, or sophisticated than that snobby woman.

Just look at Josie. She had grown up in Tennessee, but she was savvier than any woman he’d ever met.

A woman didn’t have to have a perfect face or body to be beautiful or appealing to a man.

He would choose Josie any day over a model.

Aware he was thinking of Josie again instead of focusing, he put her out of his mind. She was watching auditions with the casting director.

Josie was safe for now.

Sheriff Kimball strode toward him, scratching his head. “Anything new?”

“I’m going to have the lab look into Porter McCray and Eddie Easton,” Dane said.

“Have them run a background check on the makeup artist, Gil Baines. He denied hooking up with Charity, but a couple of women said they saw the two of them walking by the river together. No one saw them return to the party either.”

Kimball was actually offering insight, showing initiative. Maybe Dane had misjudged him, and the small-town sheriff was competent after all. “Thanks, Sheriff, I’ll pass it on. Keep an eye on him this evening while I carry Charity’s computer to the lab.”

Kimball agreed, and Dane jogged to the parking lot, climbed in his vehicle, and headed toward Knoxville. He’d check in with Josie again later.

At the moment, he needed to work. He had three viable suspects: Porter McCray, Eddie Easton, and Doyle Yonkers.

One of them might be Charity’s killer.

And . . . maybe Betsy’s . . .

Ellie hated the nursing home, but she’d finally accepted that she needed help. Ever since she fell and broke her hip last year, she’d had trouble getting around.

Although there was that one kind nurse: Precious was her name. She had the sweetest voice, and if Ellie’s senses were right, her skin was the color of caramel, her eyes dark chocolate.

Looks didn’t matter, though, especially since her eyesight had gone.

The only thing that did matter was a person’s heart. Precious’s heart was as tender and pure as anyone God ever put on earth.

Some of the workers treated her and the other residents like they were nuisances. Just because their skin was wrinkled, it didn’t mean their minds were fried.

Not Precious. She’d devoted her life to helping the down and out. She snuck Ellie an extra fried pie every now and then and brought her the good kind of towel that didn’t leave fuzz all over your behind when you dried off.

Sometimes she even visited and stayed awhile.

She didn’t mind when Ellie told stories about how she’d grown up in Hell’s Holler or the weird things that she saw. She even listened when Ellie relayed what had happened at that ranch where Ellie used to be a house parent. Precious hadn’t passed judgment. Precious said that was God’s job, and she was not God.

Although Ellie hadn’t yet confided about the boy who disturbed her so much. The one with the claw marks on his face.

The one in her nightmares at night. The one who haunted her even when she was awake.

The doctors didn’t believe Ellie had the gift of sight. One of the idiots had said she was hallucinating from the pills they gave her, but that was hogwash. He’d said it cause the dumb ass was scared of her.

Why, Ellie had these premonitions just like her mama had and her mama before her.

Granted, sometimes she saw things she didn’t want to see, but she couldn’t stop it.

Like this morning. She’d been wide-awake when images of dead girls flashed behind her eyes. Dead girls with marks on their faces like they’d been torn apart by a flock of starving birds.

Just like the boy had been.

Lordy, she’d tried to help the kid. Her efforts hadn’t worked. He’d hated her in the end just like his father did.

She struggled to get up from her rocker, her bones creaking as she stood. With gnarled hands, she clutched her walker and hobbled to get the herbs Precious had brought her so she could feel more at home. Tonight she’d cast a protection spell around the nursing home, maybe one that would bind the boy’s father to his grave.

In her vision, he was coming back from the grave to exact his revenge. She’d seen him climbing from the cold, hard ground, his devil eyes blazing with fire, his bony hands reaching for her, fingers pointed like claws ready to tear her apart limb by limb, his threat reverberating in her ears: “You’ll pay, Ellie, you’ll pay.”

She had no doubt that she would.

Dane met with Peyton at the lab outside of Knoxville. “Were you able to trace the origin of that text that Josie DuKane received?”

“I’m afraid not, Dane. It came from a burner phone. He probably used an app to disguise the number and removed the battery afterward, so there’s no way to track it.”

“I was afraid of that. Thanks for trying.” He slid the laptop toward her. “This computer belonged to the victim, Charity Snow, and her sister, Bailey. The sister claims Charity didn’t have a boyfriend. We think she met up with someone at a party in Graveyard Falls.”

Déjà vu struck him. His little sister had disappeared from a party. There had been dozens, maybe a hundred or more guests attending, but no one had seen anything.

Just like now.

Although alcohol made memories fuzzy, someone could be lying.

“I’ll get right on it,” Peyton said. “I’ll sort through her email and social media and let you know what I find.”

“Thanks.” Dane scribbled down the names he wanted her to investigate.

“Eddie Easton is a photographer who takes headshots for models and actors. He’s in Graveyard Falls doing photo shoots.”

“So he had easy access to Charity?”

“To all the women,” Dane said with a note of disdain. “Porter McCray is an actor who carries character acting to a new level—he not only looks like Billy Linder, but he’s mimicking his speech patterns, mannerisms, and he threw the party where our victim was last seen.”

Peyton’s fingers were already clicking on the keyboard. “How about the last guy?”

“Gil Baines, the makeup artist for the film company.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I thought the victim wasn’t wearing makeup when you found her.”

“She wasn’t. Someone claims Charity was with Baines at the party. No one saw her after that.” He raked a hand through his hair as Peyton plugged Baines’s name into the computer.

Seconds later, information spieled onto the screen.

“Hmm, did you know that the origin of the name Baines came from the word
bones
?”

Dane’s skin crawled. “No, but that could be significant. The killer removed a piece of bone from the victim’s cheek.”

Peyton rubbed her arms as if chilled, then scrolled further. “Baines is thirty-two, grew up in foster care in Georgia. He got into some trouble as a teen and has a juvie record, although it’s sealed.”

“Can you unseal it?”

“I’ll see what I can do. Meanwhile,” she continued, “oh, this is sad. He was trapped in a car that crashed when he was fifteen, sustained lacerations and bruises to his body and face.” She moved the cursor down then highlighted a photo. “Look at this. This picture was taken after the accident.”

Dane sucked in a sharp breath at the boy’s disfigured face. Cuts and lacerations marred over 80 percent. One jagged line ran from right below his eye to his chin, making his cheek sag. Several deep gashes made it appear like a chunk of his chin was actually missing. “How many stitches did he have?”

“According to this, over a hundred.”

Dane mentally pictured the man he’d met at the community center. “He looks normal now.”