All the Pretty Girls - J. T. Ellison [75]
They stepped into the clearing in the parking lot. Jones was holding court in the door to the office, a few locals had stepped onto the porch to exchange gossip with him. Lights were flashing, people were starting to crowd around. A deputy that Baldwin recognized from yesterday’s crime scene with Marni Fischer started winding yellow tape around anything he could find that would help form a barrier between the public and the law enforcement officials that were processing the scene.
As Baldwin watched the parade of action, a black SUV pulled up and he breathed a sigh of relief. Grimes hadn’t lost it completely, and had called in their own forensic team. The locals wouldn’t be allowed to touch anything, only the FBI would be handling evidence. There was just no sense in messing around.
The dogs were next. They piled out of a dingy white pickup truck, a man in overalls and a John Deere cap herding them. There were two bloodhounds and a bluetick hound. Good trackers.
A deputy from the sheriff’s office had gone to Christina Dale’s home to check on her whereabouts when they’d first gotten the call that she hadn’t shown up for work. When she wasn’t to be found, the heads-up deputy grabbed a couple of pieces of her clothing. Knowing it was most likely futile, Baldwin watched as the dogs were given the clothing to smell. The handler stuck something cream colored under their noses and they whined and howled, straining on their leads, ready to go. The handler gave his commands and they were off. They ran about twenty yards to the east, baying, then slowed back to a walk, sniffing the ground, working in circles, growing more confused by the minute. The handler looked at Baldwin and shrugged. He must have put her in a car. Not a big surprise.
Baldwin looked around and felt the scene, despite the confusion, was out of his hands. It was time to find out more about the latest victim.
Twenty-Eight
The man was sweating. He was tired. It was hard work, getting a body in the right spot. But he was finished now, and he stepped back to admire his handiwork, rubbing his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. Soon, he thought. Soon, it will be done and you will have everything you always dreamed of. You will have the world at your feet and I will be there with you. He smiled to himself and got back in the car. He had things to do.
He chuckled. “And miles to go before I sleep. Oh yes, miles to go before I sleep.”
Twenty-Nine
Whitney Connolly’s home was in a stately neighborhood in Bellevue, an area jokingly referred to as West Belle Meade. Trees lined the streets, the homes were mostly two-story brick with large yards. Children played in the streets and backyards oblivious to the cares of the world; the sun shone its blessings on their cavorting.
Taylor drove slowly through the neighborhood, wondering if she should look at buying here. It was obviously filled with kids and the homes were gracious and large, much more space than she already had. She’d toyed with the idea of selling the cabin once or twice in the past. With Baldwin around, things were getting a little cramped. Maybe that was the key. Break all her own rules. Buy a house, move in together and let people get over it when they found out she was dating a fed. Hell, her team was discovering her secret and none of them seemed to have any issues with it. Maybe she was the problem; her own prejudices were getting in the way. There was no law on the books against having a boyfriend, after all.
She’d counted it up last night. They’d been together for four months—just enough time for the newness to begin wearing off. He’d never officially moved in with her, just stopped going to his own house. She’d never encouraged him to leave. They’d fallen into a pattern while she was rehabbing—he’d bring home dinner, they’d talk about their cases, they’d end up in bed. Idyllic. Nothing easier to ruin a good relationship than having to talk about it. She knew he felt it, too, there was no reason to go chasing after it.
A woman with a yellow Lab walked by and gave her