All the Pretty Faces (17 page)

At this point, Easton looked more like the viable suspect.

His phone buzzed, and he snatched it up. “Agent Hamrick.”

“It’s Kimball. I found Eddie Easton. He’s at his place now. Says he did a photo shoot with that girl Neesie Netherington earlier, then they hooked up. No bloody clothing or weapons on him.”

“What about the Netherington woman?” Dane’s pulse kicked up a notch. “Any sign of her?”

“Afraid not. I left a message on her cell phone.”

“I’ll stop by that inn and see if she’s there.” He’d find out exactly what happened at that photo shoot. If Neesie had seen a scalpel or carving tool in his equipment, or if Easton had frightened her, it might confirm that they were on the right track.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Josie’s nerves were on edge as she and Dane stopped at the Falls Inn. It was nearly one o’clock in the morning, late to call on anyone.

With two women dead, every minute counted.

Dane knocked on the door, not surprised that it took a few minutes for the owner to answer, and that she was half asleep.

“What in the world?” Cynthia Humphries muttered. “Do you know what time it is?”

“We’re so sorry,” Josie said. “It’s important, though.”

“Yes, I apologize,” Dane said sincerely. “Ms. Humphries, another woman was murdered tonight. I need to talk to one of your guests. She might know something about the young lady.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh my God, I can’t believe this is happening. Who was she?”

“One of the actors in town for the film, Patty Waxton,” Dane said. “We’re wondering if your guest Neesie Netherington knew her.”

“Yes, they said they’d met before coming here.” She patted at her hair with a shaky hand. “Let me get her.”

Dane nodded, and she disappeared up the stairs. Josie dug her hands in the pockets of her jacket, dreading the conversation they were about to have.

Voices rumbled, and a twentysomething brunette with wavy hair descended the stairs, tightening her robe with the belt as she entered the foyer. Josie introduced herself and Dane, earning a wary look from Neesie.

Dane cleared his throat. “Miss Netherington, do you know Patty Waxton?”

She paled as if she sensed bad news. “Yes, we’re roommates. We met at another audition. What’s wrong? Is Patty okay?”

“I’m afraid not,” Dane said. “We found her body outside the community center earlier. She was stabbed to death.”

“Oh my God, I was afraid something bad happened to her.” The girl’s legs buckled, and Josie and Dane caught her and helped her to the bench in the foyer.

“What makes you say that?” Josie asked gently.

Tears seeped from Neesie’s eyes. “Because she goes to bed early, and she wasn’t in the room when I got home. I haven’t seen her since this morning or heard from her.”

“You were with Eddie Easton earlier?” Dane asked.

She crinkled her nose. “Yes, why?”

Josie squeezed the young woman’s arm. “Please, Neesie. Tell us what happened with Eddie. Where were you?”

She chewed a thumbnail for a moment. “He took me up to the woods for a photo shoot.”

“What time was that?” Dane asked.

“Dusk.” She shifted from foot to foot. “It was kind of eerie. He likes to take these niche pictures. We reenacted one of the murders.”

Josie lifted Neesie’s chin and frowned at the mark on Neesie’s neck. “Did he hurt you?”

“No, not really,” Neesie said. “We went to the falls, and he had me dress like the Bride Killer victims, right down to the wedding gown and garter.”

Josie wiped her clammy hands on her clothes. “Then what?”

“Afterward, we went to a motel and well, you know . . .”

“You were with him all evening?” Dane asked.

“Not the entire time,” she said. “I fell asleep about eight, and when I woke up he was gone. He left a note that something came up, along with cab fare.”

Josie bit back a comment about not sleeping with strangers. Neesie was going to feel bad enough about Patty’s death without a chastising. “Did Eddie have a doll with him? A Mitzi doll?”

Neesie chewed her nail again. “No, why?”

Josie folded her hands around Neesie’s to keep her from biting her nails to the quick. “It might be important.”

She worried her lip with her teeth as if thinking. “I didn’t see one. But he had other props in his closet. Ones for various scenes the actresses could portray.”

Josie stewed over what Neesie had said. Porter McCray was creepy, but Easton seemed more likely the killer. His fetish photography gave him the perfect opportunity to lure women to their deaths.

Even if he hadn’t hurt Neesie, he could easily have killed Patty earlier and stashed her body somewhere, then slipped out, driven back to Graveyard Falls, and dumped Patty’s body after everyone else had left the community center.

The poor girl had no idea how lucky she was to have just come away with bruises. She could be lying in a patch of weeds dead just like the others.

Dane vacillated over whether McCray or Eddie Easton was the unsub. Easton was winning out.

McCray was stranger than fiction, creepy, and obsessed with the details of the Linder case to the point he might have crossed the line and decided he wanted to taste what it felt like to take a human life. If so, why wouldn’t he have emulated the Bride Killer? Why use talon marks when he had no experience himself in taxidermy or with birds of prey? He recalled the theory about the scars. As far as he knew, McCray hadn’t suffered from scars either.

On the other hand, Easton had attended UT when Betsy visited, and he’d worked with birds of prey. He’d also been scarred, had plastic surgery, had access to all the actors, and had photography sessions with many of them. The young women would easily trust him and go with him without a fight.

Just like Neesie had when she’d allowed him to dress her in a wedding dress and mimic strangling her with a garter.

Pervert.

The thought of Easton’s actions made Dane want to wrap his hands around the man’s neck and teach him what it felt like to be powerless.

“So how was the sex?” Dane asked.

Josie caught his arm, her brows furrowed. “Dane.”

Neesie coughed. “Excuse me?”

He ground his teeth, regretting his abruptness. But he had police work to do. “I just need to know if he was dangerous. You said he posed you like one of the victims during your photo session. Did he tie you up? Make you uncomfortable? Frighten you?”

Neesie shoved her fingers in her hair and rubbed her head as if debating how to answer.

“I’m not judging,” Dane added quickly. “We’re looking for a man who killed two women. Did you feel like he would hurt you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” A sliver of fear shot through her eyes. “Reenacting that scene made me nervous because we were alone in the woods. He reminded me of . . .”

Josie squeezed Neesie’s hand. “Of who?”

Neesie made a strangled sound. “My ex.”

“What happened with him?” Dane asked.

“He was obsessed with me,” Neesie admitted. “He followed me everywhere and scared off my friends. When I broke it off, he told me he’d never let me go.”

Josie gave her hand another sympathetic squeeze. “Go on.”

“One night he beat the crap out of me,” she said. “I wound up in the hospitalic with a broken jaw, cracked ribs, and a slice out of my stomach. I still have scars.”

Dane grunted. Men who beat up on women were assholes. “Where is this guy now?”

“I don’t know.” Neesie turned to Josie for support. “When I was released from the hospitalic, a friend helped me run away. I took a new name, a new identity. I still look over my shoulder.”

“If you’ll give me a photo, I’ll alert the sheriff to look out for him,” Dane said, his protective instincts driving him.

Neesie retrieved her phone and scrolled through some photos, then texted Dane a snapshot of the scumbag.

Dane assured her that if he was in town, he’d be picked up and questioned. “Let’s get back to Easton. Did he mention anything about his past?”

Neesie shook her head. “When he saw my scars, he offered to refer me to a plastic surgeon named Dr. Grimley. He’s worked on some of the other actresses and models in LA.”

“Grimley.” Dane committed the name to memory. He’d seen that man’s business card in the basket in Easton’s studio. Charity Snow had had breast implants—had Dr. Grimley performed the surgery?

“Did Patty have any cosmetic work done?” Dane asked.

Neesie gave a short nod. “She had cheek implants and a tummy tuck, and maybe something else, although she wouldn’t talk about it.” Neesie tugged at the belt to her robe. “I’m not sure who did it. We only met a couple of months ago. She’d already had the work done.”

The fact that both victims had plastic surgery wasn’t unusual in the acting world, but it still was a common denominator.

Any common denominator might prove to be a lead.

There was also a connection between Easton and Grimley. That could be significant, putting both men at the top of his suspect list.

Exhaustion tugged at Josie as Dane drove to her house. Dane had to be worn out, too, but he didn’t show any sign of stopping for sleep.

How could she not admire him for his dedication? He might have sounded harsh with Neesie, but she sensed he was angrier at the man who’d abused her than at Neesie.

Dane phoned the lab and left a message for his IT person, Peyton, to see what she could find out about Neesie’s ex, Leroy, and Dr. Grimley.

“Grimley is a plastic surgeon,” Dane said. “I need to know if he performed cosmetic surgery on our two victims. Also find out everything you can about his background and connection to the photographer Eddie Easton.”

The memory of finding that doll on her bed haunted Josie as he pulled in her drive.

As she entered her house, she immediately scanned the kitchen and living room, then went to the bedroom to make sure no one had been inside.

When she returned to the kitchen, Dane was standing by the back door looking out into the dark woods. Josie had thought the forests looked spooky last year when she was here, but knowing another murderer was lurking around made her wonder if evil was drawn to Graveyard Falls.

“It’s late, Dane. You must be worn out. Thanks for driving me back.”

His shoulders were rigid as he pivoted to face her. “If that’s your way of telling me to leave, it won’t work. I’m not going anywhere tonight.”

His husky voice washed over her, stirring feelings that she couldn’t allow herself to pursue. For God’s sake, while she’d initiated a kiss before, another woman lay dead.

She and Dane needed to focus on finding her killer.

“I’m fine. You don’t have to stay.”

“I know you’re fine,” he said with a heavy sigh. “That you’re tough.” He curled his hands around her arms. She glanced down at the floor, aching to hold him yet knowing she had to be strong.

He forced her to look at him. “The unsub who brutally stabbed two women was in your house earlier. For all we know, he may come back.”

She trembled, and his look softened. “I’m not trying to frighten you,” Dane said, “but we have to be realistic. At some point, this unsub may want to do more than just send you photographs. He may want to talk to you in person.”

Josie’s breath caught at the dark worry in Dane’s expression. “You think he’ll try to kill me?”

Dane shrugged. “I don’t know, but from now on, I’m not leaving your side.”

Silas Grimley opened up his blog called
The Bird Diaries
and skimmed his last entry.

His father used to make him keep a journal cataloging the details of every bird of prey they’d rescued, any injuries the animal had sustained, and the treatment they’d given the bird.

He’d also performed experiments on the birds.

Some that’d made the birds sick and turn violent toward humans.

When the birds had died, he’d let the raptors clean the bones, then his father collected them. Together they’d made intricate collages for the walls.