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  “What happened?” Mother sounded impatient.

  “Nothing. I had an accident with my car and didn’t want to bother you and Daddy this late.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes. I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

  “I heard the coroner ruled Carol’s death as undetermined.”

  I rubbed my forehead. “Yeah. I heard that too.”

  She coughed. “That idiot wouldn’t know whether to wind his butt or scratch his watch. And he does the worst makeup jobs. Last Sunday, when I went to Christa Wakefield’s viewing, she looked like an Oompa Loompa.”

  Our coroner/funeral director certainly seemed to struggle these days. The man was getting up in age, and I wondered if they’d decide to hire someone a little younger.

  “Well, that’s terrible for the poor woman, but sometimes these things happen. There aren’t always answers for everything, and it’ll be good to get things back to normal around here.”

  “I guess.” I didn’t have the strength to argue with her, and supposed we were back in the realm of “I’m okay, you’re okay, and if we keep this charade up, it will be.”

  “I heard about Betty Ross’s daughter-in-law.” Mother clucked her tongue, feigning astonishment. Mother forgot I could read her tells. In fact, she didn’t even believe she had any. Her speech sped up when she fought a cunning emotion. She fanned the flames of the rumors to deflect the ones circling our own family. “I can’t believe the gall of Betty. Chelsea got involved in some sort of scandal, and she wanted to pawn whatever it was on you.”

  “It wasn’t like that, Mother.” Another call came through, and I checked to see if I recognized the number. Didn’t.

  “Lyla Jane Moody, are you listening to me?” Mother asked.

  “Yes, sorry, Mother.”

  “I said I saw Valerie Heinz at the country club this afternoon.”

  “You did?” I rubbed my aching neck.

  “Yes. She was having lunch with your friends Amelia and Chelsea, of all people.”

  I frowned. Had Val figured out who Carol entrusted with the scarf?

  “Well, actually, they were finishing up. Amelia was meeting her husband for a round of golf. I spoke with Valerie about her parents. Her mother has just been diagnosed with a touch of dementia. Bless her heart.”

  “Val didn’t tell me about her mother’s condition.” Perhaps that was another reason why she’d been so out of sorts the other night.

  “That child was lucky to be adopted by such a respectable family. She came from poor white trash. I’ve always rooted for her.”

  I shifted in the leather seat. “What do you know about Val’s past? She told me they were horrible parents.”

  “Drug addicts, I think. They abused the poor girl and her older sister. Their house burned to the ground when Val was about ten, I think. She and her sister were the only ones who survived. Her birth parents were passed out, and their drug paraphernalia caught fire.”

  “What happened to her biological sister?” Val had never mentioned her. Maybe she was adopted by another family.

  “She had problems.” Mother lowered her tone, “I think she ended up in one of those homes for troubled kids.”

  I stared at the flickering yellow streetlight. Poor Val. The crosses she bore were enough to manage, and now she’d lost her best friend in such a tragic way.

  Another call came through, and this time I recognized the number. “Mother, I have to run.”

  Not expecting him to call back so quickly I stuttered, “H-hello, Mr. Jones?”

  “Yes, Miss Moody?”

  Thankfully, I recovered, saving a little grace. “Yes, this is Lyla Moody. It seems we’ve been playing a bit of phone tag. I wondered if you had spoken to my friend Carol regarding one of your Jane Doe investigations.”

  A short pause. “I have spoken to Mrs. Timms on a couple of occasions.”

  “Oh, well, I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but she passed away.”

  Another pause.

  “No, I hadn’t heard. I’m terribly sorry to hear that.”

  Why hadn’t he heard? “The Sweet Mountain Police Department hasn’t reached out to you?”

  “No. Any reason they would?”

  Melanie pulled into the space next to me and lifted a hand. I returned the gesture.

  “Well, the circumstances surrounding her death were highly suspect. She had been really wound up about the article ‘The Dumping Grounds.’ She seemed to believe she was able to identify one of your Jane Does.”

  “Suspect in what respect?”

  Did I relay this sort of thing over the phone or hold back until I felt certain he would aid me? It took less than a few seconds for my mind to run down the pros and cons list since it wasn’t very long. “Well, sir, …” This man and I had something in common. We were both as consumed with Jane Doe cases as Carol had been. I went with my instinct. “I’m actually the one who found her. It’s going to sound crazy, but she was, um, in a suitcase on my front stoop one night when I came home from work.”

  Dead silence.

  Unclear about the appropriate amount of time you gave a person to digest such things, I fiddled with my nails as I waited for him to respond. It wasn’t the kind of news one delivered every day—not someone like me, anyway.

  Mel knocked on my passenger’s window, and I unlocked the door for her. When she slid inside, I mouthed, “GBI.”

  Mel’s face was drawn with concern. I’d given her a full rundown on what happened over the phone and how Quinn had checked out my apartment. I worried about her safety and had insisted she stay over at my apartment tonight since hers hadn’t been cleared. After my insistence, Quinn agreed to send an officer by to check her place in the morning.

  “Mr. Jones? Are you there?”

  “I’m here. I’m going to want to sit down with you at the first opportunity. Are you free tomorrow? I can drive up.” He sounded more intense than he had a moment ago.

  “I have Carol’s funeral at two tomorrow, so if we can meet really early, I can make it work.”

  “Yeah, okay. I can move some things around. How’s seven?”

  “That works. Sir, can you clue me in on why the urgency in our meeting face-to-face?” My heart fluttered in my chest when he didn’t respond. “I trusted you, and now I’m going to have to ask you to afford me the same courtesy.”

  “That’s fair. The case your friend and I were discussing has an ugly similarity to what you just told me.”

  “I’m afraid I’m not following.”

  “The Jane Doe was discovered in a suitcase.”

  Blood thrummed in my ears, and my face began to tingle. I hadn’t recalled reading about that in the article, which meant it must’ve been kept from the public. The acrid taste of anxiety filled my mouth, and I nearly lost the contents of my stomach.

  “Miss Moody?”

  “I’m”—I cleared my throat—“I’m sorry. I just didn’t expect …”

  “Like I said, it’s best if we speak face-to-face.”

  “Okay. I’ll text you the address of where I work. Is this a good number, or is there another you’d like me to use?” My hands continued to shake, and I had to force my knees still. Melanie reached over and took my hand, her eyes wide with worry.

  “This number is fine. Don’t talk to anyone about what I told you. I’m trusting you on this.”

  “I understand.” I rushed to add, “I’ll text you the address. Goodbye.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  I’d spent a few hours listening to some of Carol’s therapy sessions. So far, they hadn’t shed any light on the investigation. I had noticed with each session her increasing paranoia, and that troubled me. Uncle Calvin had left me a voicemail with a winded message that I listened to on my way into work. He’d given me his approval to work Judge Timm’s case. Not that it mattered now; I was going to do it anyway.

  I’d parked down the street from our building to get a visual on Brad Jones before he had one on me. I susp
ected he’d be here first thing since we’d discovered the commonality between his Jane Doe and Carol. My nerves were still frazzled from last night, and it’d been difficult not to confide in Mel what I’d discussed with Mr. GBI. But I’d given my word. She’d stayed over last night, and we’d both slept on the couch. Not that either of us got that much sleep.

  We had a conference call with the other club members explaining what happened and my suspicion that Carol had been using our club pick to warn us. Everyone was freaked out. Especially regarding the note.

  “Oh my God, it’s bone chilling.” Mel kept repeating. “How are we just supposed to go about our day with some lunatic out there gunning for us?”

  “Because we can’t live our lives in fear,” I’d told her. “If we do, then he’s already won.” If I were to be honest with myself, I was more pissed than afraid. This creep was not only threatening me but could also go after those I held most dear.

  We’d tried to make sense of it all and never were able to. It wasn’t until this morning that I recalled Officer Taylor’s words. In his opinion, we were all guilty of obstruction of justice. Was that enough similarity to the novel? The characters were all guilty of a crime in the book.

  I sighed and scanned the area. Sure enough, I’d been correct. Mr. GBI wasn’t waiting in front of the office like I’d expected. He was sitting on the bench across the street, between two large maple trees. He seemed lost in thought as he stared at his phone, either reading e-mail or checking social media. I would bet e-mail. Mr. Jones didn’t look like a man who had much use for Facebook. I took advantage of his distraction to size him up. He was in his late thirties, I guessed, with thick black hair cut close to his scalp, a sharp nose, and eyes a little closer together than average. He wore a blue blazer over a thin gray sweater and had matching blue slacks. As if he sensed my scrutiny, he raised his head, our gazes met, and recognition hit. He rose, and I lifted a hand, turned, and continued toward the office. I had the door unlocked and partially open when he approached.

  “Special Agent Jones, I presume.” I extended my hand, and he took it.

  He had dark-brown irises that were almost black, making him appear somewhat intimidating. “It’s nice to meet you, Miss Moody.”

  I pushed open the door. “Come on in.” I flipped the lights on and went to the Keurig. “Coffee?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Make yourself at home.” I made myself a cup, and when I turned around, he was sitting with his back straight against one of the chairs opposite my desk. He had his little pad and pen out. Unsure why he made me a tad jumpy, the edges of my mouth jerked up in a tense smile.

  “Shall we jump right in?”

  I sipped from my mug. “Sure.”

  “From what I gathered from the local police here, they’re viewing this as an accidental death and unlawful disposal of a corpse.” He looked at me.

  “Yes. The coroner ruled Carol’s death as undetermined. She had a preexisting heart condition. Since her husband isn’t thrilled with the direction of the investigation, he’s enlisted our services to see if we can dig up more info in an attempt to persuade the police to reevaluate.” More sips to calm my nerves. I should’ve chosen decaf.

  “It’s a puzzle for sure, though. Since speaking with you yesterday, the suitcase makes sense in a twisted way. Why someone would do that to her, and out of all the places they could’ve placed her, why my house?”

  His gaze bore holes into mine. “Yes, why indeed,” he said ambiguously.

  I wiped my upper lip that had begun to itch. “Right. Well, as stated in the police report, I was also the last to see her alive, other than her killer.” I recounted in detail everything from the morning I saw her at the gas station. “And now, with what transpired last night, I have a theory as to why my house was chosen.”

  He seemed to listen but didn’t react much. Training I supposed.

  “I placed my mug on the desk and pulled my phone from my purse. I told him about Carol’s warning note, scarf, the cap, and the texts, plus what had happened to me last night at the police department. I swiped my finger across the screen, thankful I’d had the presence of mind to take a picture of the note before handing it over to Quinn.

  He sat back stoically. “The police are looking into this?”

  I nodded.

  He raised his brows. “You belong to a book club called the Jane Does?”

  “Yes.”

  “The same club Carol belonged to?” He asked these questions with such a demurring, calm delivery it mesmerized me. I believed I could learn a lot from him.

  “Yes. And our last pick was Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None. Her note said to give the scarf to me before there are none. Well, technically, as I’m sure you could tell, it looked like ‘before there are ro—,’ but it’d been smudged by the woman who passed it along to me when she read it.”

  “Did the woman who passed it on to you recall it reading ‘before there are none’?”

  I shook my head. There it was. That look of careful consideration. “Is she crazy?” I could almost pick it up from his thoughts: “Could she have sent all this to herself for attention?” Now, I understood all too well that those who didn’t share our enthusiasm in murder mysteries could perceive our group as odd. But the man before me spent his life neck-deep in murder.

  “The police didn’t mention any of this to me.” He held my gaze, and I shifted in my seat. “You’re keenly interested in Jane Doe cases.”

  I fought to keep my facial expression passive. “Yes. And before you decide to pass me off as a lunatic, the note wasn’t made public, nor was how we found Carol.”

  “Did you tell anyone how you found her? Did your friend”—he glanced at his pad—“Melanie Smart?”

  I pursed my lips.

  “I’ll take that as a yes. Did Carol share with you about the Jane Doe found in a suitcase?” Again, with the deadpan stare.

  “No. I hadn’t spoken to Carol about any of the cases. Before she died, she e-mailed the members of our club. I found out about the scarf from the image posted in the article. It wasn’t until I discovered the scarf Carol left with a friend that I made the definite connection.

  “This scarf you turned over to the police. Why do you think it’s the same as the one in the image with the Jane Doe?”

  I explained about our alumnae majorette scarf and where I found it. I tapped the screen on my phone and drew his attention back to the picture. I wasn’t a fool. There would be no way I’d turn something over without documenting it digitally first.

  “Again, I find it odd they didn’t mention it to me. I’ll have to stop by there and speak with the chief.”

  I nodded and wondered right along with him why they hadn’t shared the information. It was his case. I began to get uneasy as I thought back to overhearing Quinn’s conversation. Willing my resolve to stay in place, I rolled forward to sit under my desk and took another sip of coffee.

  “Want to tell me about discovering your friend?” he asked with calm aplomb.

  Wow. This felt more like an interrogation or a character assessment than two people sharing their intel. Is there some prerequisite for those working in law enforcement to all have the same sparkling personality?

  He shot me a sideways glance. “Well.”

  “You have access to the police report.”

  “I’d like to hear it from you.” His face showed no emotion, not even a flicker or a nerve twitch. I did notice he had a scar above his right eyebrow that ran down to his temple.

  “Okay, then.” I went through the discovery in detail yet again.

  He scribbled more things on the pad. “The similarities between the Jane Doe and Carol cases are difficult to ignore. And I just don’t happen to believe in coincidences.”

  “Me either. And what an awful way to go.” My thoughts shifted, grateful my friend hadn’t also suffered such a fate of being forgotten after she was discarded. “How did Carol react when you told her about th
e suitcase?”

  He studied me for a few seconds. “She told me.”

  Chills ran up my spine. How could Carol have known about the suitcase unless she visibly saw the body before it was reported? Or she found out about it after the fact from an active participant.

  “You look pale.”

  “That’s what happens when all the blood drains from your face and you feel like passing out. Either my friend was directly involved or had knowledge of who the killer was. And said killer or partner or whatever might have decided to send a message to anyone else who decides to poke their noses where they don’t believe they belong.” I got up and paced, fighting wooziness. “It all makes sense. I told you she was using the book as clues. She knew any one of us would be able to put that together. And it terrifies me that now the killer does too!”

  “Calm down, Miss Moody.”

  “Calm down!” I turned around and waved my hands toward him. “I’d be a fool to believe I haven’t poked the bear. The person who killed a possum and soaked my car in its blood fears I’m getting closer to the truth.” My mind went to a very dark place. It had to be someone I knew, someone with access to my gated community. Someone with access to the police.

  “Miss Moody?”

  “What?” I stopped pacing and faced him. In my inward panic, I almost forgot he was sitting there.

  “You might be right. Want to take a ride out to the Jane Doe’s crime scene? Maybe something will stand out to you.”

  “What could you possibly discover after all this time?”

  “You never know.”

  I checked my watch. I could do this and still make the funeral. Our gazes locked as my heart raced. I could do this. I had to do this.

  “I’m in.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Amelia, Mel, and I sat near the back during the funeral while Val sat on the same row as the family. Patsy sat with her husband several rows in front of us. The judge had an enlarged portrait of Carol positioned at the front of the sanctuary of Sweet Mountain Methodist Church. It had been a beautiful ceremony, and now we sat wiping our eyes and sniffling as the pianist played “Amazing Grace.” Our friend had been cremated two days ago, and I’d been touched to see the church packed by those who loved her. Faces in the crowd were creased in masks of sympathy. How I wished Carol had come to me immediately instead of leaving instructions with other people. Maybe she’d still be alive. I would have encouraged her to take everything to the police immediately. Then an ugly thought occurred to me: Why hadn’t she?