The Scum of All Fears: Squeaky Clean Mysteries, Book 5 (17 page)

I couldn’t think like that. I had to keep focused on finding Clarice and Rose.

W
e reached the edge of the woods. A log cabin stood in the distance, a white car parked beside it. A white sedan.

Stephen Alexander’s sedan.

Possibly the one I’d seen Milton Jones pull away in.

My heart pounded against my rib cage. This was it. The moment of truth.

Part of me desperately wanted this to be Milton Jones’ lair. I wanted to find Nichole and Clarice and Rose and save them.

The other part of me wanted to be safe.

Of course, I rarely choose the safe courses in my life.

“What now?” Tim asked.

I pulled out my phone and slapped it in his hand. “Here you go. You could be our lifeline here.” I still had some doubts about my brother’s level of responsibility. Certainly he wouldn’t let us down in a life or death circumstance, though . . . would he?

Just then, a scream cut through the silence.

A woman’s scream.

Coming from the cabin.

“Do you want me to call now?” Tim held up the phone.

“Yes, find Detective Adam’s number in my phone book and tell him where we are,” I told him.

“You should
wait here with Tim,” Riley told me.

I pulled my gun out. “Not on your life.” I really hoped I didn’t have to use this thing. But if I had to, I would.

Riley and I stayed low as we hurried toward the cabin. All the windows were lit, and I could see movement inside. Adrenaline honed my senses, making me feel alert and sharp.

We reached the wall of the cabin. Riley ducked low so he was on one side of the window, and I was on the other. He motioned to me before slowly creeping upward and peering into the house.

“Stephen Alexander is here. That’s definite,” he whispered.

I slid up the wall so I could get a better look.
I spotted a woman cowering in the corner of the room.

I blinked. It
wasn’t Nichole or Clarice or Rose, however. This wasn’t even the girlfriend I’d seen in the pictures at the office.

No, this was a woman with long, blonde hair. She was young
, and she looked terrified.

“What did I tell you about this, Angela?” Stephen Alexander screamed from inside.
“You’re only making this worse for yourself.”

“
Please, I just want to go home,” she whimpered.

Riley nodded toward the front door. I ducked lo
w again and made my way there. We couldn’t wait for Adams to arrive. This woman might be dead before that happened.

“You women are all alike,” Stephen mumbled.

The woman screamed again.

Riley and I crept onto the porch. His steps were steady but soft as he went to the front door. Slowly, he reached for the knob and turned.

It was unlocked.

I raised my gun, ignoring my fear as I pictured
Nichole, Clarice and Rose in the recesses of this place, hurting and in desperate need of help.

On the count of three,
Riley threw open the door. We both rushed inside.

“What in the—” Stephen Alexander turned toward us
, fire blazing in his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“Let the girl go,” Riley mumbled.

Stephen pointed to the woman in the corner, an incredulous look on his face. “Her? It’s not a crime to cheat on your girlfriend.”

I aimed my gun at him. “
Don’t make him repeat himself.”

He held up his hands, as if pleading with me
. “I think you’re misunderstanding.”

The woman screamed again. “There it is. Get it. Get it!”

What?

“The police are on their way,” I explained.

The woman, Angela I assumed, looked at me with startled eyes from the corner of the room. “The police?”

“We know you’re helping the Scum River Killer,” I told Stephen.

“The Scum River Killer?” He started to lower his hands when I nudged my gun his way again. He raised his arms higher. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I knew it was a bad idea to come here. You’re helping the Scum River Killer?
You pig,” Angela muttered.

I shook my head. “You came here willingly?”

“Yeah, some romantic getaway, huh? There are mice here, and animal heads on the wall, and a carving of a nude woman in the dining room. Not my idea of romantic.”

I blinked, trying t
o process all of this. “You were screaming. We heard you.”

“I saw a mouse. I’m terrified of mice.”

“What?” Riley’s voice held disbelief.

“Maybe we should all just calm down,” Stephen said. “I can explain all of this. I’m a jerk. I can agree with that. But I’m not a killer, and I’m not helping a killer.”

“So, you’d be okay with Riley checking the rest of the house?” I asked.

“Be my guest, but you won
’t find anything,” Stephen said.

I
kept my gun raised to him. Angela had moved from the corner, and she now stood behind Stephen, hunkering there.

“Why don’t you put the gun down?” he asked.

“Not until I know for sure that you’re innocent.” I shook my head.

“Of course I’m innocent.”
His voice rose with emotion.

“You were the last person to be seen with Cla
rice. That makes you a suspect. How many times do I have to remind you of that?”

“How’d you know I was here?”

“I have my ways.” Like a dumpster diving brother and an insatiable curiosity.

“You dated
that woman who was abducted by the Scum River Killer?” Angela took a step back from him.

“It was a coincidence.”

“You were one of the last people to be seen with her. But she just disappeared . . . a few days ago, if that. That means . . .” Angela slapped him. “You are scum.”

“Now, Angela, it’s not what it looks like.”

“Let me get this straight. He never threatened you,” I clarified.

“No, he didn’t threaten me.
But he did turn on his charm and make me feel like I was the only woman for him.”

Yeah, what he’d done was no crime, but
it should be illegal. He’d led a woman on, made her believe she was the only one, and soon enough he would have probably dumped her.

Riley came back into the room. “
It’s clear. There’s no one else here.”

I lowered the gun.

Stephen’s face reddened. “Now let me call the police. You’re guilty of breaking and entering, pulling a gun on me—I’m sure there’s a charge for that, too.”

“I saw your girlfriend’s modeling photo,” I started.
I hated to play my hand like this. But I had no choice. Not if I wanted to preserve this investigation.

“What about it?”
He stared at me, sweat trickling down his forehead.

“I have her email address and phone number. I’d hate for her to get an anonymous call informing her of your indiscretions.”

His eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t do that.”

“Oh, I would.
Stacey Bennett. 614-555-3789.” I’d seen a stack of her modeling pictures in the trash. Not very nice of him to throw away pictures of his girlfriend. I imagined she’d given them to her oh-so-faithful boyfriend in hopes one of his patients might be a talent agent or advertising manager.

Stephen’s mouth gaped open
. “Fine. I won’t report this. But I don’t want to ever see you again.”

“As long as your name isn’t associated with a crime scene, I think I can handle that.”

As we trudged back to the car, I found myself humming the song from
Little Shop of Horrors
. Yes, being a dentist and inflicting pain on people just might be the perfect career for Dr. Alexander.

But that didn’t necessarily make him a killer.

With my AC still out and
Rose not available to fix it, I decided to camp out at Riley’s again that evening. Though Riley was totally into “avoiding the appearance of sin,” there were times when safety trumped people’s judgments.

Riley and I had set a lot of boundaries. Truth be told, neither of us had always abided by the standards we had now, and, in some ways, that made the boundaries we had harder to
stick with, but even more necessary.

At least with Tim staying with us, that would clear up some of the misconceptions people might
have. Besides, everyone else in the apartment building thought there was nothing wrong with us just moving in with each other. To save on rent, if nothing else, they’d argued.

But when I’d become a Christian, I’d changed.
I had new standards, and I had to turn my back on the way I used to do things. I was like someone who used to smoke. I couldn’t even allow myself one puff or I knew I’d be back to where I started.

I paused at the second floor landing
and stared at my door. I’d been in my apartment since Jones had broken in. It was just that, it had been daylight then. In the dark, the place seemed more ominous. “I just need to grab a few things.”

“I’ll go with you,” Riley said.

“You don’t have—” I started to argue.

“I’m going with you.”

As I unlocked my front door, I realized I’d never called a locksmith about getting a new chain to go across my door since Milton Jones had cut through my old one.

Images of his invasion into my home flashed into my mind. I close
d my eyes, trying not to let the thoughts explode into hyper-charged fear. I had to take rein of these emotions before they carried me away.

The inside of my apartment was hot and muggy. I would have cracked a window, but circumstances being what they were, I’d decided that was a bad idea. Even the nighttime air hadn’t cooled down the inside of this place. In fact, I think my apart
ment had trapped the heat, and now every room felt like the inside of an oven.

“I’ll be back.” I started toward my room. I twisted the knob and pushed my door
open. What I saw there made my heart skip a beat.

Blood. There was blood all over my walls.

And pictures of me with my eyes Xed out.

***

The whole crew was in my apartment again. And, by the whole crew, I meant Detective Adams, Special Agent Parker, and L.A. Detective Warren. A forensic team was there collecting all the evidence they could.

In a twist of luck—if you wanted to call it that—Tim had accidentally called my old science partner Drew Adams instead of Detective Adams. On one hand, the police hadn’t come out
to the cabin, nor had my reputation been tarnished after a false lead. On the other hand, my brother was so unreliable.

At my apartment,
I had to physically stop myself from following behind the CSI crew and discussing any possible clues and my theories behind them. Let them do their jobs, I told myself. But part of me missed being in on the official action.

Another part of me resented Milton Jones for making the apartment of a crime scene cleaner a crime scene. That had happened once before when a man had died here, and I still had nightmares about
it.

“It sounds like you’ve been busy,” Detective Adams said. “You are being careful, aren’t you? You should lea
ve the detective work to this task force. We’ve got every available cop in Norfolk, as well as every neighboring city, working this case.

“I’m involved here, Detective, whether I want to be or not.”
I trembled again as I thought about my bedroom. Why had Jones turned so much rage on me? This seemed to go beyond just making Riley pay for putting him behind bars. But why?

“Maybe you should get out of town for a while.” Parker joined our conversation. “This guy obviously has you in his sights. Maybe you should make this
a little harder for the killer and a little safer for yourself.”

“I tried to talk her into that,” Riley said.

Great, I had all the bossy men in my life surrounding me now, and they were all in agreement. I was like a contestant on
American Idol
, standing before the judges’ panel, and listening as they all tried to decide my fate.

And for tonight’s selection, I’ll be singing “Safe and Sound” by Taylor Swift . . .

I shook my head, coming back down to reality. “There’s nowhere I can go where he won’t find me.”

“Maybe we could help you out
” Parker said. “The FBI has some resources at hand. I’m sure I could pull a few strings.”

I shook my head. “I can’t do it. What if this guy isn’t caught
for months? How long was his rampage before? Three years? I can’t stay in hiding for three years. For more than one reason, starting with the fact that I have bills to pay.”

“Maybe you guys should move up the wedding date and take an early honeymoon,” Adams offered, raising his eyebrows.
“In Europe.”

“I’d be okay with that.” Riley nodded.
“We could take in the Eiffel Tower and Big Ben. Or maybe explore some castles in Scotland. Take a siesta in Spain.”

“It’s not a bad idea, Gabby,” Parker agreed.
“There’s nothing like some good old haggis to distract a person from their problems.”

Really? When had all three of these men ever agreed? But now that it came to my wedding they were on the same wavelength?

“My wedding day is supposed to be special, not influenced by the likes of Milton Jones.” I crossed my arms.

“Do a big wedding later,” Parke
r suggested.

“Says the man who’s not married.”

He shrugged. “Marriage isn’t for me. You know that.”

I shook my head and sliced my hands through the air. “Milton Jones will not have any control over my life.”

“If he takes your life, I’d call that the ultimate control.” Detective Adams said the words so quietly that I almost wondered if I’d imagined them.

I didn’t imagine the familiar way my blood seemed to freeze, though. I could deny it all
I wanted, but the truth was that Milton Jones was getting in my head. He was playing with me, playing with my emotions and fears.

I was letting him win.

That’s what he wanted to do. Just murdering someone? What fun was that for a psychotic serial killer? No, he wanted control of his victims. He wanted me to live in terror until D-Day—the moment when he actually tried to grab me.

Tried
being the key word here.

I wasn’t going to let my guard down.

“We’ve got a new officer assigned to keep watch over this place,” Adams started. “You’ll have someone stationed outside of your apartment at all times.”

I nodded, wishing his words comforted me.

“What about Officer Newell?” I asked. I mean, who could you really trust?

“He’s on desk duty for now, but he appears to be all clear. We searched his phone records and his emails. He gave us full access. We found no hints that he was associated with Milton Jones.”

“I think he may have stopped by Mr. Sears’ house this week. That’s what the neighbor hinted.”

“I’ll see what he says.”

“Do you have any other leads?” I asked.

“You know we can’t tell you that. But we’re on top of this. We have someone on this 24-7. I’ve only gotten probably two hours of sleep in the past three days, if that tells you how seriously we’re taking this.” Adams stared at me.

“What about Mr. Sears? How did he die? Can you at least tell me that?”

“You know I can’t tell you that
either.” Adams ran a finger across his throat as he said the words.

I got the message.

Mr. Sears’ throat had been slit. But I didn’t hear that from Adams.

That didn’t fit
Milton Jones’ M.O., but I couldn’t buy that the man’s death just coincidentally happened in the middle of all of this.

Nope, I sure didn’t.
My gut had told me those messages at the crime scenes didn’t fit and I’d been correct. But how did all of this tie in?

“Can you give me something else? Anything?” I asked.

Adams leaned closer. “You didn’t hear this from me. Got it?”

I nodded.

“That Freddy Mansfield guy you told me about? He has a prior record.”

“For what?”

“Breaking and entering. Funny thing, at all the places he struck, he never left any clues as to how he got inside.”

“Just like Milton Jones?”

Adams nodded. “Just like Milton Jones.”

***

I awoke with a start.

Panic raced through me.
Where was I?

Then everything came back to me. I
must have fallen asleep at Riley’s.

I rubbed my cheek, still feeling the impression from Riley’s shirt.

The TV screen was blue in the distance. Riley and I had sat down to watch a movie, ready to do something to take our minds off the madness at hand. He’d let me pick. I’d almost gone with
Little Shop of Horrors
, but instead I chose
The Sound of Music
. I needed something light and happy and hopeful. Something that involved no murder or gore or blood covered walls.

Maria and her adventures never failed to cheer me up.

I smiled when I looked over and saw Riley snoozing on the couch, his head propped up against the back. He was wearing khaki shorts and a Georgetown T-shirt. His dark hair was tousled, and a couple stray pieces of popcorn dotted his clothes.

I hadn’t intended on falling asleep out here. No, Riley had offered up his room
again since Tim was using his spare. Riley was going to take the couch. But I guess we were both exhausted from everything that had happened.

I stared at his face, at the soft blue light from the TV as it illuminated him.
Riley Thomas was more than my fiancé. He was my best friend. When I wasn’t with him, I wanted to be with him. I couldn’t wait to tell him about my day. I couldn’t imagine my life without him, for that matter.

Maybe I should listen to everyone’s advice. Maybe we should just get married and take an extended honeymoon. We could furiously pray the whole time that Milton Jones would be caught in the meantime and that we could resume our lives.

My life rarely worked out that way, though. I vowed that would only make me stronger; that it would make me a fighter. But it definitely seemed like just when one trouble rolled out of my life another one was waiting to roll in.

A sound caught my ears, and I stiffened. What was that? It wasn’t Tim. It had come from the other side of the apartment, the side opposite the bedrooms.

I surveyed everything around me. The bookcases looked the same. Lucky’s cage was motionless. The curtains hung without movement.

But I’d heard something. I knew I had.

Adrenaline pumped through me. I felt like a cat ready to pounce. Like a giant Venus flytrap sensing an incoming fly and poising for action.

Why had Clarice filled my head with songs from
Little Shop of Horrors
? Why? Why?
Why?

I didn’t have time to ponder it now.

Something was waiting in the distance. Something wasn’t normal. Something caused danger to crackle through the air.

The question
s were: What? Who?

I hoped my guesses weren’t correct. I hoped there was some wild misunderstanding going on in my mind. Chad and Sierra were back early and wanted to stop by for a visit? Bill McCormick remembered something about his conversation with
Rose during their date? Mrs. Mystery wanted to discuss a plot idea with me from her latest book?

My spine straightened
. The sound. I’d heard it again.

I continued to scan my surroundings
, looking for some kind of sign. My eyes stopped at the front door. My gaze became hyper-focused on the doorknob.

I held my breath, wondering if my eyes were deceiving me.

They weren’t.

The
doorknob turned.

Someone
was trying to get inside the apartment.