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CHAPTER 35
D.D.
D.D. DROVE BONITA AND KEITH back to the Mountain Laurel B&B. Kimberly had found an FBI hat in her bag, which they’d squashed as low as possible on Bonita’s head to obscure her face. It wasn’t much of a disguise, but it was something.
Of them all, Keith was the most relaxed. But then, from what D.D. could tell, the computer analyst regarded most of this as a grand adventure. Though he was also humming this morning. If she didn’t know any better, she’d suspect...
Sitting behind the wheel, D.D.’s eyes widened. She decided it was time for her to stop thinking about other people’s personal lives and focus on work.
Approaching the main road where the beautiful Victorian graced the corner, D.D. slowed. She could see one deputy out front, next to the yellow crime scene tape that blocked off the patio steps leading to the wraparound porch. D.D. pursed her lips, considering. She didn’t like approaching from the front. Too exposed, especially given the local climate.
—
D.D. SWUNG AROUND THE BLOCK, where she discovered a second county sheriff’s vehicle. Except when they pulled in, no deputy was in sight.
Immediately, she felt a prickle of dread. The back door was partially obscured by a giant mountain laurel, hence the B&B’s name. Meaning that if their UNSUB had chosen to return, this is exactly where he would strike. Sneak up on an overworked, sleep-dulled officer and then...
A man in uniform walked into full view. He was stubbing out a cigarette and glanced up self-consciously when he noticed D.D.’s car.
She released the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. They were on edge. Too much so. But now, she thought, they were gonna shake off their jitters, and get these assholes.
On that note, she swung open her door. Keith and Bonita followed suit.
D.D. flashed her creds at the deputy, who appeared completely chagrined at being caught taking a smoke break. Given all the thoughts that had been racing through D.D.’s head, she could care less. She let him open the door, escort them inside, then told him to resume guard. Last thing she needed was Bonita’s demon breaking in when D.D. had two civilian charges.
Entering the grand old inn was disorienting. For one thing, the lights were off, casting the rear hall into shadow. For another, the silence. The Victorian sat, as if waiting.
D.D. noticed that Bonita placed her hand on the wall. If she didn’t know any better, she would’ve sworn the girl was patting the wainscoting reassuringly.
D.D. couldn’t get her bearings. The place was a labyrinth and she’d never approached from this angle before. She turned to Keith. “You need the computers, correct?”
“Yes. Step one is to figure out which of their computers has the Tor browser. That’s the one they’ll be using for the dark web.”
“Okay. Bonita, can you guide us to the office?”
The girl nodded, limped away. If it felt scary or uncomfortable to return to this place, none of it showed on her face.
They rounded a corner and the grand entryway appeared straight ahead, with the sweeping stairs to their right and another hallway veering to their left. Down that hall was the room where they’d discovered Martha Counsel’s body. And apparently, the first door on the right was the woman’s office.
D.D. looked around, noting file folders on the floor, an empty safe. The edges of the room and the desk were covered in fingerprint powder. Whatever had been in the safe had been bagged, tagged, carried away.
The room still carried a faint metallic tang of chemical residue. Forensic tests for blood, body fluids, God only knows what. She noticed a section of carpet that had been cut up and removed, as well as a giant piece of fabric from a once gorgeously covered silk-striped wingback. Meaning maybe some of those test results had been positive.
Keith didn’t seem to notice. He went straight to the desk, snapped on the fancy stained-glass work lamp, and contemplated the computer monitor.
“Gloves,” D.D. ordered.
Faint blush. The computer analyst nodded, then pulled out a pair from his pocket. Not cheap latex, but thin black fabric. Exactly like what some wealthy true-crime enthusiast might order from the internet. D.D. resisted the desire to roll her eyes. Keith might have questionable bona fides, but his work spoke for itself. If anyone could trace the activities of their secret criminal operation, it would be him.
He fired up the desktop, already in his geek zone.
“When I hear from Sheriff Smithers with the username and password, I’ll let you know,” D.D. informed him.
Keith nodded absently, gloved fingertips already racing across the keyboard.
That left her and Bonita.
Once in the hallway, D.D. asked, “Do you have a favorite place in this hotel?”
