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THIRTY-ONE
The hotel had been built during the gold rush and likely hadn’t been aired out since then. Beth’s room was a good size, with a reasonably modern bathroom, obviously an addition from the original, but it had a clawfoot tub with a shower overhead. The basin in the vanity resembled a flower, with petals curling over the sides, and the mirror had brown spots all through. At least it had good lighting and Beth took her time in the tub before heading down to meet Styles in the restaurant. Amused to see the doors resembling those on a Wild West saloon, she pushed through and met Styles at the counter without Bear. She’d made a point of dressing nice and had brought two large suitcases with her, much to his dismay, but she needed to make sure she could cover any situation and explained that a city girl needed changes of clothes in strange towns. In truth, she had one suitcase filled with her special effects gear, various disguises, and costumes. She had no idea if or when she’d get the chance to follow Dryer. Catching a cab to a murder was usually out of the question, but she’d use whatever means of transport she had at hand. Knowing where Dryer was at any given time would be an advantage if he struck again soon.
“Our table is ready.” Styles smiled at her. “Now, I know why you brought all the luggage. Am I allowed to say you look spectacular without being sexist?”
Beth laughed. “Yes, and thank you. I won’t take offense if you say I look good.” She sighed. “People confuse me sometimes.”
“How so?” He took the offered seat and faced her across the table as the server handed them menus and wandered away.
Beth met his gaze over the menu and cleared her throat. “Men act in two opposite ways with me: either they hit on me or tiptoe around me. You’re my friend as well as work partner and I respect you, so please speak your mind to me. You won’t offend me. I don’t figure you could if you tried.” She smiled at him. “So loosen up. We’re friends, and we’ve shared confidences.”
“I’m good with that.” Styles folded his menu. “Although, I don’t have to tell you how good you look, Beth. Every eye turned toward you the moment you walked in. You know you have a magnetism that’s very attractive.”
Beth scanned the menu, placed it aside, and looked at him. “Thanks, but I’m like you. We’re both damaged goods, and bad things take time to heal, don’t they? I enjoy working with you, Styles, but how you cope with me is still a mystery. I know I can be difficult at times. You honestly do have the patience of a saint.”
“Many of the world’s best problem solvers are a little eccentric.” Styles shrugged. “I can live with that part of you. The rest I’ll play by ear.” He beckoned the server, and they ordered dinner.
They discussed the cases over their meal, and Beth had finished her second glass of very good wine when Styles’ phone buzzed.
“Sheriff Bowman, what can I do for you?” He passed Beth one of his wireless earbuds.
Surprised to find it was a call from Sheriff Bowman out of Roaring Creek, Beth raised both eyebrows and listened with interest.
“There’s been another shooting out of River’s Edge. Sheriff Tucker is on scene. The store clerk was murdered and we found a purse belonging to a young woman by the name of Cheyenne Dimple. She’s missing. She’s seventeen, lives close by, drops by most nights for milk and bread around the same time. We’ve spoken to her mom.”
“I’m currently in Mischief and can’t fly there tonight. I’ll need to refuel.” Styles frowned. “Sheriff Tucker will need to process the scene and preserve everything until we can get there in the morning. Have the victim’s body taken to a local hospital or mortuary. Is there a place close by the crime scene where I can land the chopper?”
“Yeah, I’ll send you the coordinates and Tucker’s contact details. Let him know your ETA and he’ll meet you and take you to the scene. I’ll ask him to arrange transport for you if necessary.”
“Okay, thanks.” Glancing at Beth across the table, and raising both eyebrows, Styles sighed. He disconnected and looked at Beth. “The case here will need to wait. We might have a chance of saving this girl. We’ll need to check out your algorithms and try and determine where he plans to murder her and get there. We’ll be leaving at sunup.”
After handing back the earbud, Beth finished her wine and leaned back in her chair. “It’s just as well the killer isn’t an early riser. From Wolfe’s report, from the insect invasion on the bodies, the victims weren’t shot early. He figures they were found no more than two hours after he shot them, so we can figure he murdered them around eleven or later, not earlier. If we get back to the office by six, we can leave within the hour, if you need to refuel, and we grab our gear. I’m not planning ongoing after him without wearing a liquid Kevlar vest, that’s for darn sure.”
“That’s a given.” Styles nodded and checked his watch. “I suggest an early night. Unless you have other ideas?”
Suddenly elated, Beth rubbed her temples to cover her excitement. A small window of opportunity had just opened up for her to find and prevent Dryer from murdering more girls. She looked at Styles. “Me, no. I have a headache after studying all those files. An early night sounds like heaven.”
“Great. I’m beat.” Styles motioned to the server for the bill. “I’ll sleep like the dead tonight.”
THIRTY-TWO
Making plans to take out Dryer as they rode the elevator to their rooms, Beth glanced at the room service attendant with her cart piled high with towels. “Do you mind if I grab a couple of extra towels?”
“Go right ahead.” The woman handed a pile to her. “I’m finished for the night as soon as I take my cart back.” She smiled. “It’s been a long day.”
As Beth moved closer, she unclipped the master room card from the woman’s belt and held it under the towels. The sleight of hand was part of years of training. She’d attended night classes in magic for many years. All the skills she’d acquired were practiced regularly to give her the edge she needed to succeed. She could remove a man’s watch or his wallet or slip one of her tarot cards into his pocket and he’d never know. Picking locks, learning the art of using botanicals and poisons to her advantage, and spending many years in classes honing her skills in special effects makeup were only a small part of her knowledge. The FBI valued her skills as an undercover agent and how she could transform into a man or a young woman in her teens, but she’d only ever revealed a part of her skills to them. She kept in shape and being naturally fine boned, even atthirty, with the right silicone overlays, face tape, makeup, and wigs, she could pass as just about anyone. She had fat suits and muscle suits to enhance her slim frame, and clothes completed the illusion. Her skill at falling into any character was a gift she’d picked up along the way. Her psychopath side of her brain was indeed a great help when it came to portraying someone. If she hadn’t been an FBI agent, she’d have loved being onstage. The problem was, in a fight scene she might just get carried away, and that couldn’t happen. She smiled to herself. Not at any time had anyone noticed she wasn’t the person she portrayed. Not even Styles when he knew about her disguise.
When they reached their floor, she gave Styles a wave, opened her door, and slipped inside. The moment the door clicked shut behind her, she kicked off her shoes and checked the tracker app on her phone. Good, Dryer was at the saloon, his favorite place to drown his sorrows. He would likely spend some time there and then drive around town until he found someone to take out his anger on, but she couldn’t allow that to happen. She’d discovered he left to complete his patrol around ten each night. She checked her watch and then went to her bag. This time, she’d become a barfly and attempt to draw him into a quiet area of the saloon. As he’d been triggered, he would likely speak to her and make plans to meet her somewhere. He wouldn’t be stupid enough to be seen with one of his victims, even in trigger mode.
She dropped her suitcase on the bed and pulled out everything she needed from her bag of tricks. She had many silicone shapes she could use to change her appearance. A different nose, pitted skin, and a short black wig would work well with dark brown contacts. A set of over-white teeth pushed out her top lip and lipstick added to the pout. In less than half an hour she’d changed her face and slipped into a bra that gave her huge breasts. She selected her clothes with care. Inthis town, she’d wear jeans, a tight sweater, high heels, plenty of silver bangles, and long dangly silver earrings. She pulled on thin leather gloves and removed a tarot card from its protective cover before placing it in her pocket. She’d chosen poison as her weapon of choice. Spilling a small amount of her drink over Dryer would be risky but essential. The poison would absorb through his skin at a slow rate, killing him in twelve hours or maybe more. By that time, she’d be back in Rattlesnake Creek with Styles. It was the perfect plan. All she had to do was get out of the hotel and back in without being seen.
She glanced at her selection of coats. Nothing would do for what she needed, and getting soaked through wasn’t an option. Slowly opening the door, she peered outside. A service elevator was at the end of the passageway. To avoid being seen, she’d ride it down and find the staff entrance. It was a few hours before the place closed for the evening and the likelihood of someone leaving a coat hanging to dry at the entrance was a good possibility. She rode down, glad when the elevator zoomed past all the floors and stopped in the basement. Her heart pounded when the doors opened and voices came from somewhere close by. She peeked around the door to see two men heading for double doors pushing trollies piled high with dishes. An illuminated exit sign shone like a beacon, and she dashed toward it. On one side was a door with the signstaff only.
She used the card, it clicked open, and inside was just what she expected. A row of hangers by the door with wet shoes and boots underneath. Another wall held a row of lockers with combination locks and in the middle a table with a few dirty coffee cups and an ashtray. She ignored the lockers and ran her hands over the coats, finding a long, hooded raincoat, still damp from the weather. She took it down and slipped it on, pulling the hood over her head and down to her eyes. Dressed like this, she’d take a cab to the saloon and no one would recognize her.She went back out into the passageway and took the exit into an alleyway. A few moments later she climbed into a cab and, using her best Southern drawl, gave instructions to the driver to take her to the Dancing Lady Saloon. On arrival, she paid in cash and went inside, removing her coat and shaking it before heading for the bar. She scanned the room, spotting Dryer at the pool table. He wasn’t playing, just leaning against the wall watching the game. As if he’d sensed her arrival, he looked at her and she pushed back her shoulders, sending him a wide smile before turning and ordering a drink. “Bourbon, straight up.”
“Gotcha.” The barman poured the drink and placed it on a coaster. He pushed a dish of nuts toward her and smiled. “You new around here?”
Beth smiled. “Just passing through.” She sighed with relief when someone at the other end of the bar waved at him.
