All the Pretty Faces (34 page)

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thanks to the amazing team at Amazon Montlake for their support for this series and for taking a walk on the dark side with me!

My sincere appreciation to my developmental editor, Mallory Braus, for her enthusiasm, encouragement, and for pushing me to make the book better during the revision process. (Thankfully she couldn’t hear my cursing in the wee hours of the morning as I implemented her changes!) I hope we do many more projects together. Yes . . . I really do.

As always, I have to mention my fabulous agent, Jenny Bent, who thought I was a sweet Southern girl until she read my books—then represented me anyway.

Also, a special thanks to New Orleans Police Chief Scott Silverii for answering endless law enforcement questions. You are the greatest!

I especially want to give a shout-out to the real Precious, a wonderfully sweet and compassionate young woman who showed great kindness and tenderness to our family and my mother last year during her stay at a nursing home/rehab facility. God puts people in our lives when we least expect them and need them the most—and Precious was definitely a godsend.

I can’t write thanks without mentioning my critique partner of twenty years, Stephanie Bond, who, like a good husband, has stuck with me through all the highs and lows of the business and my writing career. It’s the greatest of marriages—she never complains when I plot murder over a glass of wine, and I don’t even have to pick up her dirty socks.

And last but not least, thanks to my fabulous husband and three great kids for their support. Even though they are sometimes shocked at my sinister stories, they love me even when I frighten them.

Happy reading in Graveyard Falls!

Rita

ANOTHER GRAVEYARD FALLS NOVEL BY RITA HERRON

All the Dead Girls
, coming in Fall 2016

PROLOGUE

She had to run away.

JJ Jones had been planning it ever since she’d learned what would happen on her thirteenth birthday.

She would become a substitute for her foster father’s wife.

Her stomach roiled at the thought, and she slipped from bed, retrieved her backpack, then tiptoed over to Sunny’s bed.

Sunny was two months younger than JJ, but small for her age, frail, and terrified of her own shadow.

JJ couldn’t leave Sunny to face Herman’s wrath when he discovered JJ had left.

She gently shook her foster sister. “Wake up, Sunny, it’s time.”

Sunny groaned and rolled to her side, but JJ made her turn back toward her, then whispered as loud as she dared. If he caught her, she’d be punished.

He liked to punish.

“Come on, Sunny, we have to go.”

Sunny’s eyes slowly opened, confusion clouding them. “What? I was dreaming.”

Probably of a better place to live. Clean clothes. A real family.

JJ had given up on those things a long time ago.

She pressed her finger to Sunny’s lips to remind her to be quiet. “Remember, I told you about my birthday. I won’t let that man touch me. We have to go
now
.”

Fear flickered across Sunny’s face, but she nodded, threw her covers aside, and dropped to the floor. They’d packed their backpacks the night before and slept in their clothes. Not that they had many clothes. Herman and his wife, Frances, used the money the state gave them to support their booze habit.

JJ grabbed her jacket and shrugged it on, then tossed Sunny hers.

The wind howled outside, thunder rumbling. JJ’s adrenaline kicked in. They had to get to the bus station before the storm hit.

She jammed her feet into her boots, and Sunny did the same. They threw their backpacks over their shoulders, crept to the window, shoved it open, and crawled outside. The fresh air was refreshing compared to the stench of the dirty house and the smell of liquor.

JJ had repeatedly phoned the social worker for help, but the woman had such a big caseload, she ignored JJ’s calls. She didn’t know what else to do but run.

Sunny’s legs buckled as she hit the ground, and JJ steadied her. A noise echoed from inside. JJ froze, terrified he’d woken up.

She motioned toward the woods in back, then mimed the word “Go.” Sunny nodded, and they ran toward the woods. JJ had stolen a flashlight from the house, and once they were far enough away not to be seen, she flicked it on and used it to light their path.

The coach’s son had promised to meet them at eleven. She hurried Sunny along, wincing as the bitter wind ripped through her and raindrops began to pelt them. She and Sunny yanked their jacket hoods over their heads, then picked up their pace, slogging through the woods as fast as they could.

A half mile down from the house, she cut to the right toward the street, and they jogged toward the Dairy Mart where she was supposed to meet the boy. The lights were off inside the ice-cream shop, and the parking lot was empty.

JJ ushered Sunny beneath the awning to the side of the building, and they huddled in the rain, waiting.

Seconds dragged into minutes. Minutes bled into an hour. Disappointment and despair tugged at JJ.

“He’s not coming,” Sunny said, shivering.

JJ wrapped her arm around her friend and rubbed her arms to warm her. A chill had wormed its way through JJ, too, and her teeth were chattering. She hated to admit it, but Sunny was right.

Lightning zigzagged across the sky, crackling as if it had struck a tree. Rain turned to hail, the icy pellets pounding the concrete.

They couldn’t stay here all night. Sooner or later the local cops might show or someone would see them.

Then they’d take them back to
him
.

No way would JJ let that happen.

She grabbed Sunny’s hand. “We’re not giving up. We’ll walk.”

Sunny dug her heels in. “But it’s miles. I’m tired and cold.”

Anger seized JJ. “Then let’s hurry.” Sunny balked, but JJ shook her by the shoulders. “Listen to me, you’ll be thirteen in two months, then he’ll want you.”

Sunny’s face paled, ghostly white against the dark, gloomy night. “Where are we going?” Sunny whispered.

“My grandmother’s. She lives in Nashville.”

“I thought she didn’t want you,” Sunny said in a choked voice.

JJ’s heart clenched in pain. Sunny was right. Her grandmother hadn’t wanted her as a baby. But JJ refused to let that stop her from finding a better place to live. A safe one.

“She was sick when I was born,” JJ said. “When she hears what Herman planned to do to me, she’ll let us stay.” At least she hoped she would. Otherwise, she had nowhere to turn.

“What if she lets you stay but won’t keep me?” Sunny cried.

The fear in Sunny’s voice tore at JJ. She had no idea how her grandmother would react. Thirteen years ago, she’d told social services she couldn’t raise an infant. Would she feel the same about a teenager?

No, JJ would convince her she could take care of herself. All she and Sunny needed was a roof over their heads and for people to leave them alone.

“Don’t worry, I’ll work it out.” She gave Sunny a reassuring look. “I promised to take care of you and I will.”

Sunny wiped at a tear, then gripped JJ’s hand, and they headed down the street together. The country road had no streetlights, and the clouds shrouded the moon. Sunny stumbled, and JJ flicked on the flashlight again.

She didn’t know the exact mileage but guessed it was about ten miles to the bus station. Thunder rumbled and the rain beat down, pounding the ground and soaking them to the core. Mud and water seeped into JJ’s shoes, adding to the chill.

A half hour later, Sunny complained that her legs were hurting. Occasionally a car passed, but JJ quickly turned off the flashlight, and they ducked behind some trees to hide.

Another mile and despair threatened. Sunny tripped over a tree stump, collapsed to the ground, and cried out in pain. “I hurt my ankle.”

JJ wiped rain from her face, willing herself not to cry, too. They still had a long way to go. She stooped and shined her light on Sunny’s foot. It was turning red and swelling.

Panic streaked through her. What were they going to do?

The sound of an engine rent the night, and she pivoted. A truck was coming toward them. The headlights nearly blinded her, and she slid an arm around Sunny’s waist to support her and help her stand.

“I can’t put weight on it,” Sunny whined.

Brakes screeched. The driver must have seen them. He slowed, gears grinding as he veered to the side of the road. The passenger door opened with a screech. JJ squinted through the bright lights.

“You girls need help?”

She couldn’t make out the man’s features, but a girl sat beside him. And there was someone else . . .

JJ’s lungs squeezed. Surprise filled her at the familiar face.

A loud clap of thunder rent the air. Sunny startled. JJ helped her up, pushed Sunny into the cab first, then hauled herself onto the seat.

As she closed the door, JJ turned to see who the man was, but it was too dark inside the cab to make out his face. The cab smelled, though, like some kind of men’s cologne. A cologne she’d smelled before . . .

“I’m sorry,” the girl said in a low voice.

JJ frowned. What was she sorry for?

A second later, the man shoved a rag over JJ’s mouth and nose, and the world swirled to black.

CHAPTER ONE

FIFTEEN YEARS LATER

6:00 a.m., Thursday, April 2—Graveyard Falls

No one in Graveyard Falls knew the real reason Sheriff Ian Kimball had moved to this town. Hopefully, no one ever would.

Not unless he found what he was looking for.

Depending on the answers he got, he’d tell them and let the cards fall where they may.

The truth shall set you free, his father used to say.

A bitter chuckle rumbled from him. Except his dad had insisted he’d told the truth fifteen years ago, and no one believed him. He’d gone to prison anyway. And Ian’s family had been destroyed.

Hell, the truth might destroy Ian again, but the guilt was already doing that, so he might as well keep digging.

At the moment, none of that mattered, though.

Right now he had a real mess on his hands. On the heels of a serial killer stalking the town, this F-3 tornado was too damn much.

The devastating damage from the nearly two-hundred-mile-per-hour winds and flooding that had swept over the Southeast thirty-six hours ago, hitting them with a funnel cloud that had ripped up trees by their roots and flung houses and cars as if they were ping-pong balls, had left the town shaken and picking up the broken pieces of their homes and shattered lives.

“Shit, I can’t believe this.” Deputy Whitehorse’s boots dug into the muddy earth where they stood assessing the damage at the trailer park outside Graveyard Falls.

Metal, glass, household items, clothing, underwear, lamps, kitchen utensils, dishes, linens, broken furniture, and children’s toys lay scattered across miles of soggy soil. Ancient oaks and pines were split in two, ripped from the ground, and branches and limbs that had once been large and sturdy now lay in piles like kindling.

Ian had already walked the town square. Most of the businesses and residents in the city limits had fared better than the outskirts, but the Falls Inn had lost its roof, a live oak had fallen through the kitchen at Cocoa’s Café, and numerous homes had flooded.

“How many casualties?” Ian asked.

“Three so far. A woman trying to get home to her kids was struck by a tree when it crashed into her VW.”

“Jesus, poor family.”

Deputy Whitehorse pushed his ponytail over his shoulder. “Ninety-year-old Marvin Mullet tried to save his chickens and got thrown against his tractor on the way to the barn. He died instantly.”

“If only people had heeded the warnings we issued,” Ian said, hating to hear about the old man. “Who else?”

“Elderly woman in the trailer on the end. Neighbor said she’d lost her hearing and was confined to a wheelchair. He tried to convince her to let him take her somewhere safe to wait out the storm, but she refused to leave her home. Rescue workers found her dead beneath the kitchen table. She was holding a Bible, a picture of her husband, and a tin of snuff.”

He pointed where the trailer had once stood, but all Ian could make out was a few pieces of metal, broken china, a needlepoint family tree, and a damp photo album that probably held precious mementos of the woman’s life.

Sorrow for the families struck him, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it. There was too much to do. The governor was flying in to visit the area and hopefully issue orders for state help for the residents and town.

Rescue crews had been working overnight to help residents escape their flooded and demolished homes and uncover victims who might be trapped. The community center that had been used to stage auditions for a film crew making a true crime movie about the serial killer cases in Graveyard Falls was now ironically being used to house the homeless. The Red Cross had rushed in with emergency supplies, blankets, clothing, food, water, and flashlights. Utility companies were working around the clock to restore power.

Ian’s phone buzzed. He snatched it from his hip, dread balling in his gut when he saw the name. His other deputy, Ladd Markum. The last twenty-four hours had been nothing but bad news. “Sheriff Kimball.”

“Sheriff, you need to get over to Hemlock Holler.”

Ian frowned. Hemlock Holler was a desolate stretch of land by the river surrounded by hemlock trees. Rumors claimed nothing would grow on the stretch because the land was haunted. Once a prison had stood on the grounds, but it had been destroyed in another flood years ago. Like the legend of Graveyard Falls where locals swore they could hear the screams of three teenage murder victims echoing off the mountain, those same residents insisted you could hear the prisoners’ shouts for help in the holler. “What’s going on?”

“We’ve got a problem. A
big
problem.” The deputy’s voice cracked a notch. “The pilot from that search and rescue team called. They spotted something suspicious, so I drove over to check it out.”

“And?”

“You have to see for yourself.”

“I’ll be right there.” Wiping sweat from his forehead, Ian punched Disconnect, then addressed Deputy Whitehorse. “I have to go. Let me know if there are any other casualties.”

Whitehorse nodded grimly. “I’ll keep you posted.”

Ian rushed to his police SUV, jumped in, hit the siren and lights, and sped toward the holler. Debris and tree limbs in the road slowed him, and he had to drive around a utility truck working on downed power lines, but finally he made it.

Early morning sunlight fought to find its way through the aftermath of the dark storm clouds and lost the battle, an oppressive gray clouding the sky. The deputy’s vehicle was parked at an overlook on the mountain where tourists often stopped to enjoy the scenic view—or hear the so-called ghosts.

Ian swung his SUV in beside it, dragged his jacket up to ward off the chill, and hiked down the hill. Wet dirt, gravel, and rocks created a slippery path. Ian latched onto trees and broken limbs to keep from falling and careening down the embankment.

His deputy waved him toward where he stood by a patch of mangled trees that created a V shape. Locals called it Rattlesnake Point because a bunch of teens had been hiking here once and stumbled on a bed of rattlers that had sent three of them to the hospitalic with bites.

A hissing sound filled the air, and Ian hesitated, gun drawn as he searched for the snakes.

The tangled weeds and brush were so thick, though, he couldn’t see.

Deputy Markum tilted his hat to acknowledge Ian, but the man’s face looked pale, almost sickly.

Ian rubbed his hand over his bleary eyes. He was going on thirty-six hours with no sleep himself. “What is it?”

“The storm was nothing. Just look.” The deputy lifted his flashlight and shined it across the ground.

Ian followed the path of the light, a cold engulfing him like nothing he’d ever felt before. At Rattlesnake Point, he’d expected to see a bed of snakes the storm had unearthed.

This was more disturbing than snakes. A sea of white that resembled ghosts bobbed up and down on the surface of the flooded valley. He narrowed his eyes, trying to make out what he was seeing. The prison ghosts the locals gossiped about?

No. The white—Jesus, it was a river of thin, white gauzy fabric. On further scrutiny, he realized the fabric was nightgowns. Gowns mired in mud and dirt and leaves.

Gowns like women wore.

“What the hell?” He moved his flashlight across the murky water with a grimace. More sticks and twigs, broken branches?

No.

The truth hit him like a fist in the gut.

Bones.

The ground was covered in bones.
Human
bones. They floated in the water, protruded from the earth, clung to the white fabric, and lay scattered over the ground where the water had receded.

He swallowed back bile. Good God.

His deputy coughed. “Someone was buried here.”

Ian ground his teeth. “Not someone. There are dozens and dozens of bones.” He removed his hat and scrubbed a clammy hand through his hair. “This is a damn graveyard.”