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With evening traffic building, the drive over the Cumberland River to the bakery took him about thirty minutes. When he arrived, he left Tracker in the backseat, the car still running and the air- conditioning blowing out cool air.
He crossed the parking lot and pushed through the front door of the bakery. Jangling bells above his head and the scents of cookies and cakes greeted him.
Two females stood behind the counter—one a teen and the other a woman who appeared to be in her thirties. The duo waited on several customers. Rick opted to stride toward the older one. She had dark hair, skimmed back into a tight ponytail, and wore a white shirt, faded jeans, and an apron that crisscrossed around her full waist and tied in the front.
As Rick reached for his badge, the woman’s gaze rose as if she’d been expecting him. She reached for a white towel, wiped her hands, and after speaking to the teen moved around the counter toward him.
He noticed a resemblance to Diane Smith. Though their coloring was different, their eyes shared the same watery blue and each had full lips that tilted at the corners.
He showed her his badge. “Ms. Lorrie Trent?”
She nodded. “Yes. You’re here about Diane?”
“Is there somewhere we can talk in private?”
She flexed her fingers. “Why don’t we go into my office? We can talk there.”
Behind the counter and through a kitchen, they moved into a small, cramped office stocked with shelves crammed full of cookbooks and file holders. “You’ve come about Diane?”
“I have.”
She drew in a steadying breath as if reading his expression as a harbinger of bad news. “Have you found her?” She twisted the apron strings around her hands. “I tried to file a missing persons report. She missed our Monday dinner appointment. The officer said she’d only been gone a few hours and he couldn’t activate the report until today.”
Lorrie had a Monday dinner appointment with Diane. So why had Diane sent a text to her boss about an impromptu vacation and not her sister? Siblings fought. He had his own cold war going on with his brother Alex. “Ma’am, Diane was murdered.”
Blue eyes widened and filled with tears. “What?”
“We found her body in a burned-out building yesterday. We only made the identification today.”
Pressing fingertips to her temples she sat down in the lone chair in front of the desk. “She was burned alive?”
“No, ma’am.” He studied her pale face wondering how he’d react if he’d received similar news about Alex. A stabbing feeling cut, leaving him vacant and sad. Alex might be a dick but he’d never wish him ill. “We believe she was dead before the fire was set.”
Tears welled and spilled easily down her cheeks. She didn’t bother to swipe away her tears. Her hands trembled as she fingered the apron strings.
This kind of news rocked foundations. Devastated lives. Murder happened in other places, bad neighborhoods, to people who’d crossed some kind of line that divided good from bad.
Finally, Lorrie cleared her throat. “How did Diane die?”
“We aren’t releasing that information yet.” He shoved his pity aside for her. As sad as Lorrie appeared he took a mental step back. She could get comfort from a friend. What she needed from him was an objective mind. Diane deserved justice.
“I don’t understand why anyone would want to kill her? She was well liked and the sister that everyone respected. She had a super job and was making money hand over fist. She was the one that my parents had always pinned their hopes on before they died. I’m the fuck-up dreamer.”
Thoughts strayed to his brother Alex. Their dad had called him the Golden Boy. “Was she dating anyone? Was there anyone in her life that made you worry or think twice?”
“A guy in her neighborhood. And a guy at another real estate firm. I don’t remember names, but neither one liked the fact that she was smarter and wouldn’t allow them to be in charge. Diane’s a woman who knows her own mind.” She frowned. “Knew her own mind.”
He shifted his stance. “And you two got on well enough.”
“We fought sometimes. We’re sisters.” A sigh shuddered through her. “Stupid fights.”
“What did you fight about?”
She pulled at a white towel tucked in her apron string and wiped her eyes. “Lately, we argued about money.” She muttered an oath. “I asked her for a loan and she said she’d have to do a cost analysis on the bakery. I was pissed but I needed the money so I went along.”
“What happened?”
“Diane said the bakery was a losing investment. I tried to tell her it was my dream but she’d said numbers were numbers. I hadn’t spoken to her in a month. Monday’s dinner was supposed to be my chance to apologize. She was right. The bakery is losing money.”
“Why did you try to file a report? Why didn’t you just assume she just didn’t want dinner with you?”
“When I had a chance to think I realized she’s never missed an appointment in her life. She just doesn’t blow people off, even sisters who’re too emotional.”
“When was the last time you two spoke?”
“Like I said, nearly a month ago.” She swiped tears with the back of her hand. “We communicated about dinner via text.”
“What did you do after she didn’t show for dinner?”
“I called her cell. No answer. Then I called her office. They said she was taking a day off. That didn’t sound like Diane. I’ve seen her work through a raging case of the flu and another time after hip replacement surgery. Vacation days are spent working on her house. She never rests. And if she did take a day off, she’d have told me.”
Would he know if something had happened to Alex? Rick could fix just about anything but he’d been unable to push past his own anger to fix his broken relationship with his younger brother. “So you sensed trouble.”
“I went to her house. No lights. No sign of her. This isn’t Diane. We’ve our differences but I know trouble, so I went to the cops. And like I said, they weren’t convinced she was missing.” She rubbed her eyes. “Shit. To think she might’ve needed my help and I couldn’t do anything.”
Family, friends, or acquaintances committed most murders. A year ago, he’d been mad enough to strike out hard against Alex. He would’ve regretted the act later but in that hot moment his combination had been dialed. “She was last seen at her office on midday Saturday. The fire was set late Sunday night.”
Lorrie’s eyes widened as she considered the statement. “That’s a thirty-six-hour gap. What happened to her during that time?”
“We don’t know. Her ATM card wasn’t used, nor were her credit cards. Somewhere between her office and her home, she went off the grid.”
She sobbed. “You mean she was taken to a house that burned to the ground.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Fresh tears filled her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. “Who would do this to her? It doesn’t make sense.”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”
The recording tape played on a small computer screen, glowing bright in the darkened room. On screen, the woman, Diane, was tied to the bed, spread-eagle. She stared past the man holding the gun toward the camera and the one she knew really directed this dark scene.
Reason sat back, disgusted at the display. Such unnecessary damage. “That should satisfy you. That should fill your belly so you can take a long slumber.”
Madness growled. “I’m still hungry and restless for more.”
Trembling fingertips reached out to the computer monitor and circled the image of the woman’s terrified face. “That moment required months of planning.”
“Yes, and it paid off with a rush so delicious, didn’t it.” Madness had howled in satisfaction.
“We need to lie low for a while. Take a break. Let the cops move onto a new murder.”
Madness stared at the computer screen. In the next picture frame, pawn looked at master, waited for permission, and when it w
as finally given, shot the woman. And like the snap of fingers, the moment was over. The energy deflated from the room as if they’d burst a balloon.
Pop.
Gone.
Madness had shivered in the wake of the orgasmic rush. It closed its eyes and lay back, searching for satisfaction. “I’m still hungry. I need more.”
“That’s why we made the recording. So you could watch whenever you wanted. Be content with that.”
This little scene had stirred Madness’s cravings, much like bread stimulated the taste buds of a starving man. The taste was just enough to remind it of what it had been missing.
“It’s not enough. I want another taste.” Raising a frustrated gaze from the computer, Madness, no longer willing to be a silent partner, studied a Peg-Board with neatly arranged images of several women. The shots were candid. One woman was leaving a gym, another was waiting for a cab, and the third was in a bar.
Extending from each woman’s image was a red string and that string extended across the board to the images of different men.
Three women. Three men. The two sets were puppets in plays yet to be staged. The players in these productions had been chosen months ago. They had been the understudies in case the Diane performance had failed.
