Chapter Eleven
Panic. It overwhelmed, rang in her ears, closed her throat.
“What is this? What does it mean? He can’t possibly think of us as a couple. We never—it wasn’t serious that way, not even when I thought he was…”
“Rozwell doesn’t have relationships in the normal way, Morgan.” Beck spoke carefully. “We believe you’re the only woman he’s targeted who survived, and as far as we know, this is the first time he’s left a trophy he’s taken from a target on a subsequent victim.”
“Trophy,” she repeated.
“Items he may keep,” Morrison explained. “We know, as we’ve recovered some items, he tends to sell or pawn the more valuable, but there’s no evidence leading us to believe he disposes of all. It’s probable he keeps one or more objects from his victims.”
“As trophies.”
She’d heard of this, of course she had. She read books, she watched movies. But it brought fresh horror.
“Like—like a deer head on the wall. But he didn’t keep my locket.”
“He placed it on this victim, knowing we’d identify it as yours—even without the photos inside, we would have identified it as one of the items stolen on the day of Ms. Ramos’s murder.”
“Why would he do that?” But she knew. She already knew. “To scare me,” she said before either agent could speak. “To let me know he hasn’t forgotten about me. To—to allude we’re connected. Why does he care?” she demanded. “He won. He killed Nina, he killed my closest friend. He took everything from me. I lost everything I’d worked for. I lost my home.”
“You lived,” Beck said simply.
“Nina didn’t.”
“He didn’t want Nina. He killed her out of necessity, not desire. For the first time, he failed. He missed. You lived,” Beck repeated. “And you’re rebuilding your life.”
Step-by-step, she thought. Brick by hard-won brick.
And now?
“You’re saying—or he is—he’s not finished with me. You’re telling me he could try again. What am I supposed to do?” She pushed up, hugging herself as she paced. “Move again, go into hiding, change my name? And what good would any of that do? If he wants to find me, he’ll find me.”
“He wants you to be afraid,” Morrison said. “He wants to live in your head. You live in his. And that burns, Morgan. It scrapes against his ego, and that burning, that scraping caused him to make a major mistake. We’re forewarned, and so are you.”
“What good does that do me?” She dropped into the chair again. “Now I live looking over my shoulder every day, waiting for him to come after me? What about my mother, my grandmother?”
“I’d advise you to install a security system.”
“We have one,” Morgan said wearily. “We never use it.”
“Start,” Morrison said flatly. “Morgan.” He leaned forward. “I’m not going to say you have nothing to worry about, but you have advantages here.”
“How about you name a few, because I’m not feeling it.”
“You know what he looks like. He changes his appearance—hair color, facial hair, colored contacts, glasses—but you know him. He can’t use his usual methods with you. He has to devise another way, and you can put up roadblocks there. Security system’s number one.”
“You work nights,” Beck continued. “Buy a panic button, have your keys and the panic button in your hand when you leave work. Have Security or other coworkers walk you to your car. Check the tire pressure and gas gauge in your car before you drive anywhere. Never leave it unlocked, and check the back seat before you get in.”
“We’ve already given local law enforcement Rozwell’s photo. You should do the same for Security at your employment, and to the staff at your family’s business. To hurt you, he has to get close to you. Make it hard for him to get close.”
“He could just shoot me in the head from a distance.”
“There’s no satisfaction for him in that.” Beck said it so easily, Morgan choked out a laugh.
“Oh, well then.”
“For him, it has to be close. It has to be personal, because for him it is personal. It’s possible he did this just to thumb his nose at us and frighten you. But I’d strongly advise you to take these precautions.”
“Keep your phone charged and with you,” Morrison added. “Get in touch with us, and the local police, if he makes any attempt to contact you. Contact us even if you just feel something’s off. Taking a basic self-defense course wouldn’t hurt. I’d give that same suggestion to anyone, frankly.”
“Your best weapon against him is to live your life.”
“With this criteria.”
Beck’s tone changed, softened just a little.
“Most of it’s common sense. You’re a sensible woman, Morgan. Stay sensible. I’m sorry we had to bring this to you. I’m sorry we haven’t caught him. We believe he spent most of this past year in hiding because you spooked him. But he’s come out now, and he’s made some mistakes.”
“The locket.”
“And others.”
Beck glanced at her partner, got a subtle go-ahead nod.
“Evidence indicates he kept this victim a prisoner in her own home for over twenty-four hours before he killed her. That’s a risk he’s never taken before. Her sister had a key, which he knew. She might have come in at any time. He spoke to one of the victim’s neighbors during this period—deliberately went outside the house to start a conversation. In her statement, the witness described the conversation and his demeanor as odd, and she’d found it unusual for the victim not to come outside herself, as she was a keen gardener. She didn’t report any of this, but she might have. He risked that, very possibly to stroke his own ego after his failure and time away from his work.”
“And the woman is still dead.”
“Yes. She didn’t know him and didn’t have the opportunity to take precautions against him. You do.”
Beck put a manilla envelope on the table between them. “Inside are several photos of Rozwell, along with a description and list of his known habits and routines. My card and my partner’s are also inside. We’ve spoken to the local police. Please give these to your employer, your family. If that’s difficult or awkward for you, we’ll do so.”
“I’ll do it.”
“We’re both available anytime, day or night.” Morrison rose. “Take the precautions, Morgan.”
She would, of course she would, she thought when she stood in the empty house. What choice did she have?
She’d start with the alarm system, something her grandmother had installed shortly after Pa died. And, Morgan knew, no one ever bothered to use.
She had to look up the instructions and the code in her grandmother’s files, but she set it before she took the envelope and left the house.
She hated the way her heart hammered when she walked outside. And the trembling inside as she walked to the, yes, unlocked car, checked the back seat.
Three-quarters of a tank, so that was good, but she had no idea how to check tire pressure.
She’d learn.
Even on the short drive into Westridge, she found herself obsessively checking her rearview mirror, tensing up when a car approached on the other side of the road.
She locked the car in the lot behind Crafty Arts and walked into the warm welcome of the shop.
Sue and a customer laughed together like old friends. Maybe they were. Her mother stood at a display case while another customer tried on a pendant.
Audrey sent Morgan a smile as she spoke to the customer. “It looks wonderful on you, so good with your coloring. I like these earrings with it. They coordinate, but they’re not matchy.”
“You’re the devil, Audrey.” But the woman held one of the earrings up to her left ear.
“Try them on. You know you want to. See how they feel. What do you think, Morgan? Irene, this is my daughter, Morgan.”
“So this is Morgan.” Irene turned as she took off one of her own earrings, passed it to Audrey. “Your mom talks about you all the time. No wonder you said she was beautiful, Audrey. She looks just like you. And damn it, I love these earrings.”
“They look wonderful on you,” Morgan managed. “And the pendant’s stunning.”
“When you’re right, you’re right. Okay, Audrey, ring everything up. Then I’m getting out of here before my credit card bursts into flames.”
“Is Gram around?” Morgan asked.
“She just went upstairs.”
“Do you think you could come up when you’re done? For a minute?”
“Sure.”
She went through the café—three tables of tea drinkers—and managed to smile at the counter server before she went into the back and up the stairs.
Giving in, she sat on them a moment, between kitchen and offices, steadying herself. Get it done, she told herself, and rose.
She heard her grandmother’s voice before she stepped into the office. Olivia sat behind the desk, studying her computer screen as she talked on the phone.
“If you can deliver next week, we’ll take two of each for a total of six. Don’t screw with me on the tonal quality, Al. The sound’s as important as the craftmanship. I’m going to trust you. Tuesday works. We’ll see you then. Bye.”
She hung up the phone. “Wind chimes. Half a dozen. And we’ve got hummingbird feeders, garden stakes, birdhouses, and what-all coming in next week. That’s a sure sign of spring.”
She reached for her tea and took a good look at Morgan’s face. “What’s wrong? Something’s wrong.”
“I just—”
She broke off as Audrey rushed in. “What happened? What’s wrong? I could see it in your eyes.”
“Everybody sit down,” Olivia ordered. “Take a breath, Morgan, then say it.”
“He killed somebody else, a woman in Tennessee. Oh God. God. The FBI agents came to the house to tell me.”
“Audrey, get your girl some water.”
“I’m okay, I’m okay.” After she reached for her mother’s hand to stop her, Morgan continued. “My locket—your locket, Gram—he put it on her. He replaced the pictures inside with one of me and one of him. They said that was a mistake, but…”
She told them what they’d said about the murder, the sister, the neighbor.
“What twists someone into a monster?” Olivia murmured. “Are they born that way, or is it a choice? I suppose it can be either or both.”
Rising, Audrey poured a glass of water from the bottle always on hand, gave it to Morgan. “Sip slow. You’re not leaving, not moving somewhere else. I can see that thought in your head.”
“If it’s in there, it better get out. The Nash women are sticking together this time. And that’s the end of that.” With a slice of her hand, Olivia cut off the discussion.
“He killed Nina because she was there. What if—”
“What if, what if.” Now Olivia threw up her hands. “What if he gets run over by a truck tomorrow? Listen to me. You’re not leaving your mother and me to worry about you, leaving us in that house worrying if you’re all right. We stick together, and that bastard’s not going to split us up. Be done with that, Morgan.
“We start using that damned alarm system.”
“I set it before I left. They said to do that, so I did. And I’m supposed to get a panic button. I want both of you to get one, too.”
“Then we will.” Audrey reached over to rub Morgan’s arm. “We’ll talk to the police chief. We’ll talk to Jake.”
“They already did. And they said you should have one of these pictures of him, and their cards.”
After studying the photo Morgan gave her, Olivia nodded. “We’ll post one of these right in the shop, and another in the café, where people can see his murdering face.”
“Oh, Gram.”
“We’ll make copies, Audrey, and the other merchants, they’ll post them. Let him show his face around Westridge. Let him try. Nobody fucks with my granddaughter.”
“Mom!”
“I save that word for when it’s most useful and appropriate. I expect they told you to give this to the resort.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know what else they told you, but so far, it sounds like sense. Here’s what I’m telling you. You’re going to turn in that rattletrap you’re driving and buy a new car. A new, safe, dependable car. I’m going to finance it.”
“Gram.”
“Don’t interrupt your grandmother,” Audrey told her.
“I’m going to charge you interest, and you’ll make monthly payments to me just like you would a finance company. We’ll do an amortization schedule. Your mother and I get peace of mind, and you keep your pride. Both matter.”
“I’ve been looking at used cars—”
“New.” Olivia sliced her hand again. “New, safe, dependable, and able to handle Vermont winters. I’m going to give you the name of the saleswoman I bought my last two cars from. We came to terms, and if she wants my future business, she’ll do the same for you.”
“Be smart, Morgan, and say thank you.”
“I do thank Gram. I thank both of you.” The gratitude burned in her throat, her heart, her belly. “But the fact is, I don’t know if I’ll have a job after I take this to the Jamesons.”
“Don’t buy trouble when everyone can get it for free,” Olivia advised her. “Go do what you have to do. Then you go to the dealership. I’ve got her card.”
She took out a business card folder, thick as a brick, flipped through. “Here it is. I’m going to call her, tell her what you’re after, and what I expect.”
Next she took out a checkbook. “Don’t you come home without a decent vehicle.” She made out a check to the dealership, dated, signed, left the amount blank. “We’ll work out the payments when you get home.”
“We’ll be there when you get home.” Taking Morgan’s hand, Audrey brought it to her cheek.
“We’ll be home, but we won’t be able to get in the house without the damn code. What the hell is it?”
Surprised it was in there, Morgan choked out a laugh and told her.
Even though Nina’s car wheezed on the drive to the resort, Morgan told herself not to think about cars yet. She could end up driving away from the resort unemployed, and if that happened a new car was pointless.
In the employee lot, she locked the car, headed down the walkway. Inside, the lobby boasted a fresh floral display, all spring, and she thought again how much she liked working here.
The people, the atmosphere, the energy, her responsibilities also appealed.
Now Gavin Rozwell could take it all away, take so much away again.
She might not work Mondays, but she had everyone’s schedule in her head. Nell, direct supervisor, had a meeting finalizing the menu for an upcoming wedding.
Not only did interrupting that or waiting until it finished seem pointless, but she felt she should take this issue straight to the top.
And Lydia Jameson worked in her office on Mondays.
She made her way to the office area and found Lydia’s door open, the woman behind the desk on her computer.
“Another double?”
“No, ma’am. If you have a minute?”
Lydia signaled a come-ahead. Morgan went inside, shut the door.
As she did, chief of police Jake Dooley sat in Miles’s office. They’d been friends since middle school and he knew Miles as well as he knew himself, so Jake laid it all out, quick and clear.
As he listened, Miles studied the photo of Rozwell Jake gave him.
“Okay. Now give me your take. Not theirs, yours.”
“He took stupid risks—talking to the neighbor, keeping her alive for a couple days when her sister had a key. The kind of risks everything in the file I’ve read says he’s never taken.”
Shifting, Jake leaned forward and tapped a finger toward the photo.
“He’s not one of the types who wants to get caught, Miles. He enjoys what he does too much for that. He’s not only a psychopath, a sadist, he’s spoiled. He’s greedy. And he’s been, up until now, very careful.
“The locket?” Jake continued. “Not only leaving it on the victim, but replacing the pictures inside? Putting his own in there with Morgan’s? That message is clear enough.”
“Her statement is they weren’t involved as a couple.”
“Not a couple, no. But she’s on his mind, she’s connected. She’s the reason his luck changed. And he wants her to know he’s not done with her, to know and be afraid.”
“If she’s not, she’s an idiot, and she doesn’t strike me as an idiot. I’ll talk to Security, to the family, to her.”
“Good. When you talk to her, make sure she knows she can contact me, anytime. She has questions, I’ll try to answer them. I know they’ve got a security system. If they’re not using it, they’re going to.”
“Count on it.”
“I’m going to hunt up Nell.” Jake rose. “She’s Morgan’s direct supervisor, right? I want to lay this out for her.”
“Fine. I’ll let you know what Morgan has to say when I talk to her.”
Alone, he spent another minute studying Rozwell’s photo. Then he rose. He’d start with his grandmother, he decided, then work his way through the rest.
“You have trouble all over you,” Lydia said to Morgan. “A problem in Après?”
“No, ma’am, it’s personal.”
“Sit down then. Let’s hear it.”
“You’re aware of what happened when—before I—”
“Take your time,” Lydia said when Morgan broke off. “This is to do with the man who killed your friend and stole your identity.”
“Yes. The agents in charge of the investigation came to tell me he killed another woman a few days ago.”
She said it all fast, got it out while her stomach churned.
“You’ve got his picture in that envelope?”
“Yes.”
“Well, let’s see it.”
She fumbled, had to use both hands, but got one out, rose to hand it over the desk.
“Mrs. Jameson, I understand if you don’t want to bring this trouble to the resort, to the staff, the guests, your family. I understand.”
“Handsome. Slick-looking, though. Slick’s never been my type.” She set the photo down, folded her hands on it, then looked up at Morgan. “You’ve worked here about a month now.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I rated you as someone quick on the uptake—one of the reasons you got the job. Fast learner. But if you think the Jamesons are so weak-kneed and careless as to let you go over something like this, I was wrong about you.”
It all just flooded through her, a tsunami of emotion, stress, relief. Bursting into tears, she dropped into the chair again, covered her face with her hands.
After one quick knock, Miles opened the door. “Grand, I—Well, hell.”
“Give the girl a handkerchief.”
“I don’t have one.”
“Come in here, close the door.”
“Maybe I should just—”
“Now!” As she spoke, Lydia opened a drawer, took out a box of tissues. “Give her the tissues, get her some water. Don’t be a jackass.”
“I’m sorry. I just—”
“You cry it out. You’re entitled. That murdering son of a bitch killed another woman in Tennessee.”
Lydia gave him the details more coherently than Morgan had managed to give them to her. And though he already knew, Miles said nothing.
“She thought we’d fire her over it.”
“Then she’s stupid.”
“She’s not stupid, she’s overwrought, as anybody with sense can see.”
“I’m sorry.” Struggling for composure, Morgan mopped at tears. “I’m sorry.”
“What’ve you got to be sorry for?”
Morgan lifted her drenched eyes to Lydia. “I don’t know. I just don’t know. I wish I did.” She pulled out more tissues. “God, I’m a mess. I can be sorry for that.”
“Apology accepted. Miles.”
“Sure. Jake—police chief,” he added in case Morgan didn’t know, “already spoke with me. We’ll make copies of the photo, make sure Security has them. Reservations, check-in, restaurant and bar managers, and so on. Grand, we need to lend her one of the staff vehicles. You should see the pile of crap she’s driving. A breakdown between here and the Nash place is inevitable.”
“I’m going to get a new car. I’m going today. My grandmother wouldn’t take no on it.”
“Olivia Nash is a woman of sense. I expect the same from her granddaughter. You’re also part of the Jameson family now, and we take care of our own. Understood?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m very grateful.”
“Continue to do good work, as you have been. That’s thanks enough. Miles, walk Morgan to her car.”
Morgan rose. “I’ll do good work, and I’ll still be grateful. Thank you.”
“Let’s go this way.”
He led her to the left, past more offices, and paused at a restroom. “Go in and do something with your face.”
“That bad?”
“Bad enough.”
She went, saw he hadn’t lied, and did the best she could.
“Better?” she asked when she came out.
“Close enough. Somebody from Security will walk you to your car after closing every night. Jake said you have an alarm system on the house. Use it. Don’t buy another piece of crap. You need four-wheel or all-wheel drive.”
Something about the blunt, no-bullshit-taken tone brought some strange sort of comfort. “I know.”
“Have you ever bought a car before?”
“Yes. I had a nice Prius. He stole it.”
“Don’t pay sticker price because you’re tired and have a headache.”
Everything in her felt off and dull and stupid. “I am tired. I do have a headache.”
“Don’t pay sticker price or fall for all the add-ons.” He waited while she unlocked the car.
She just nodded, got in the car.
He held the door open, looked down at her.
“Morgan, when something’s your fault, you take responsibility for it or you’re an asshole. When something’s not your fault, you’re stupid to take responsibility for it. None of this is on you. Go buy a car,” he said, and shut the door.
Once again, he stood, hands in pockets, to watch her drive away. Then he went back inside to schedule an emergency family meeting.
It would take less time that way.
She bought a car. She didn’t go into it or come out of it with the same pure joy she had before, but she bought a car. And she didn’t pay sticker price. Still, Morgan credited that more to her grandmother’s patronage of the dealer than her own negotiating skills.
Either way, she now owned a new compact SUV that would handle winter when it came around again. A hybrid that satisfied her economic and environmental values, and didn’t wheeze, clunk, or cough.
She considered the fact that giving her anything but a pitying look as a trade-in on Nina’s car was a bonus.
As promised, her ladies beat her home, and must have watched for her, as they both came out when she pulled into the drive.
“Oh, it’s so cute!” Audrey clapped her hands together. “What a pretty blue.”
“Looks sturdy.” As she circled it, Olivia nodded approval. “And safe.”
“Sturdy, safe, and cute. Good job, Morgan.”
“It’s a hybrid. I don’t do a lot of driving, and they have a couple of charging stations at the resort, so it’s practical.”
“Hits all the notes then.” Ready to soothe, Audrey put an arm around Morgan’s waist. “You’re worn out, baby. Let’s go in, get some food in you. Gram made her smoked tomato soup. How about I make you a nice grilled cheese sandwich to go with it?”
“That sounds great, thanks.” Inside, Audrey hung her coat before Morgan could. “They didn’t fire me or ask me to resign.”
“Of course they didn’t. How about some tea? Why don’t you put the kettle on, Mom?”
“A good stiff drink might put the color back in her face, but we’ll stick with tea. Sit down, Morgan. You got through it, and getting through it’s what counts.”
She sat at the counter, pressed her fingers to her eyes. “I cried. God, I just lost it, right in Mrs. Jameson’s office.”
After turning the flame on under the kettle, Olivia turned back. “I doubt it’s the first time Lydia’s had tears in her office.”
“Then Miles came in while I’m on my jag. He said I was stupid.”
Busy slathering butter on slices of sourdough, Audrey paused, and her eyes fired. “For crying?”
“No, no, for thinking they were going to let me go. And I felt stupid, and relieved, and they were so kind. Matter-of-fact kind, so I felt even more stupid and relieved.”
She dropped her hands. “He actually said they needed to lend me a car because I was driving a crap pile.”
“Well, the crap pile part was true.” Generously, Audrey layered sharp cheddar on bread. “No offense to Nina or her family.”
“Nina knew it was a crap pile. I told them Gram decreed I get a new car, today, and Mrs. Jameson told Miles to walk me to my car, and he’s telling me to fix my face because I look like hell. And I did, I really did after that crying spree. Then he’s all ‘Don’t pay sticker price.’”
“There’s a man for you.” Olivia set the tea in front of Morgan. “Just assuming a woman doesn’t have the brains to make a good deal.”
“I more think it was because I looked like hell, and I’ve had this fog over my brain since I opened the door and found the FBI. Pretty sure it showed.”
Tired, so tired, she knuckled her eyes. “I half expected him to tell me he’d go with me and make the deal so I didn’t screw it up. Instead he said taking responsibility for something that’s your fault means you’re not an asshole, but taking it for something that’s not makes you stupid. Or something like that.”
“Did you screw it up?” Olivia asked while the sandwich sizzled in the skillet.
“I don’t think so.”
“Are you to blame for what this monster did?”
“No.”
“Don’t add the but. The answer’s no.”
Too tired to argue, Morgan nodded. “I have all the paperwork on the car, the total after the trade-in.”
“We’ll deal with all that tomorrow.” Olivia ladled soup in a bowl while Audrey flipped the sandwich in the skillet. “We’ll figure out the payment schedule, and you can make the first one on the fifteenth of May. Then the fifteenth of the month thereafter.”
“Okay. It has a lot of safety features.”
“And it’s cute.” Audrey set the sandwich, cut on the diagonal, by the bowl of soup, added a cloth napkin.
“It is cute. I know I’ll love it when this fog lifts.” She spooned up some soup, felt it slide, warm and soothing, through her battered system. “Oh, this is so good.” Sighing out, she took a bite of grilled cheese. “It’s so good.”
When Audrey stroked her hair, Morgan turned her face into her mother’s shoulder.
“It’s all right, baby.” She met her mother’s eyes over her daughter’s head. “It’s going to be all right.”