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When the doorbell rang, Jenna expected to see the uniformed officer that Rick had sent. She’d not glanced in the peephole or peeked out the window. It wasn’t like her to be distracted.
She opened the door to Susan Martinez. The reporter was dressed in a black pencil skirt, a white tailored shirt, red four-inch heels, and large, dark glasses. Pearls hung from her neck and a gold watch winked on her wrist. “Jenna.”
Jenna’s hand gripped the edge of the door and straightened as if someone had taken an unexpected swipe at her. She needed formality with this woman. “Ms. Martinez.”
“I was hoping we could talk.”
“About what?”
“We received quite a few calls and e-mails on that piece. People were touched you survived and thrived. If you would let me interview you, I think quite a few people would be inspired by you.”
“I don’t think so, Ms. Martinez. I’m not interested in rehashing my family’s tragedy for everyone to see. But feel free to tell your own story and how you were tangled up with my family.”
A wrinkle formed between the reporter’s eyes. “No one cares about me. They care about you. You’d be going full circle if we spoke again on television.”
“I don’t need to go full circle.”
“The cops, hell, even the reporters, worked nonstop for weeks until you were found. Believe it or not, there were seasoned cops crying when you were found alive. I think you owe it to them all to show that you’re doing well.”
She understood what those cops had gone through emotionally. She’d been in their shoes before. She’d wept tears for children like Sarah.
“The case was solved and closed. Leave it alone.”
Jenna thought about the uniformed officer whom Rick was sending. She did not need Susan Martinez here now. One thing to dig up the past but it was quite another to talk about an active case with the media. “Now’s not the best time. I have a client coming by to talk about a portrait.”
A spark in Susan’s eyes suggested a shift in tactics. “KC Kelly was one of the cops on your case. I could interview you together. It really would be a great story.”
The woman didn’t know when to let go. “KC’s not a fan of interviews.”
“He had his share of troubles last year but I won’t bring them up. I promise.”
The sincerity underscoring the last word rang false. “No. Not now.”
The reporter didn’t blink or budge. “How is it that you came to draw in front of KC’s bar? Was that a one in a million?”
“It happens.”
“I don’t think so.”
“What’s that mean?”
“You came back to Nashville for a reason. You found that girl in the closet and started to remember. You’re still remembering more and more each day.”
“I needed to make sense of a terrible thing. That’s all.”
“And you’re at peace with what happened to your family?”
“I have to be. Look, Ms. Martinez, I don’t want to have this conversation. I don’t want to do an interview. I need you to leave.”
Susan stood her ground. “Is it because of what I told you about your father and me?”
“You’re too close to the story.”
“I’m not. I’m a reporter first.”
Jenna shook her head. “No, Susan. I can’t do this now.”
“Every day on the anniversary, I put flowers on your family’s grave.” She whispered the words as if in confession.
“Why?”
“Because they were good people. They should be remembered. Helps me to remember them.”
“I do remember them. I don’t need to relive the past in public.”
Susan’s eyes danced with desperation. “I’ll be at the gravesite tomorrow. Maybe I’ll see you there too.”
“Good-bye, Ms. Martinez.” She closed the door. For a few long, tense minutes, the woman stood on the doorstep and didn’t move. Then finally, she turned and left.
Jenna watched her leave but sensed she’d not seen the last of her.
Rick got out of his car and studied the high-end dress shop Pamela’s. The one-story building was painted in blues and grays and a gilded P decorated the glass front door. He didn’t know much about the place but had been willing to visit when the uniformed officer had called him an hour ago. “Lady says she’s got a stalker. A guy that’s always just there. Seeing as you’ve had two murders thought you’d want to know.”
Rick had searched the woman’s name, Pamela Grayson, and discovered she’d had no priors and had not filed any stalking claims before. When he did an Internet search on her and saw the picture of her standing in front of her store, he realized she fit the profile of Diane and Nancy.
Jangling his keys, he moved into the shop immediately assailed by the scent of expensive perfume and bright colors.
A tall woman with dark hair glanced up at him. She stepped around the counter, a pink dress hugging her slim figure. Clearly, she realized he didn’t belong in a place like this. “May I help you?”
He removed his badge. “Detective Rick Morgan. Nashville Police Department. I’m looking for Pamela Grayson.” A dress here would cost more than most cops made in a month. “I understand you filed a report yesterday.”
Relief softened dark eyes. “Yes, but I wasn’t sure anyone was really listening.”
“I’m listening. What’s going on?”
Pamela sighed. “A few months ago, I got the feeling that someone was watching me. At first, I just dismissed it. My mother always said I could make a production out of nothing.” Absently, her right hand went to the gold watch on her left arm. “So I just kind of blew off my worries. But my skin kept tingling.”
“Tingling?”
“Yeah, I know. Sounds dumb. But there you have it. Tingling skin. Anyway, I really started to pay attention to my surroundings. I read that book on fear. I know you’re not supposed to dismiss it.”
“Okay.”
“Anyway, I was driving to work a few weeks ago and I see this red truck. It’s old and beat-up. Before I can really worry about it, it’s gone. No big deal. Then two weeks ago, I saw the same kind of truck parked across the street. It was just there for a few minutes but it was there. So, I’m at the mall, scoping out the competition when I see a guy. Grungy. Kinda weird. Again he’s there and then he’s not.”
So far, nothing much Rick could use, but he let her keep talking. “Two days ago, I’m buying coffee in Nashville, twenty minutes from here. Same truck. And same guy. When I came out of the shop I look up and he’s staring at me. I know that was no accident.”
“I understand you snapped a picture of the truck with your phone camera.”
“I did.” She turned to the counter and picked up a phone in a bejeweled case. She punched in the security code and scrolled to the image. “I caught him as he was getting into his car. I don’t think he saw me take the picture.”
Rick studied the picture. A man faced away from the camera so there was no clear image of his face. He was dressed in jeans and getting into a pickup truck. He was a classic Nashville character. “Can you describe him?”
“Not really. I just got a glance at him. I mean I remember thinking he wasn’t nice-looking, but that’s all I can remember.”
His thoughts turned to Jenna and her talent for giving a face to images trapped in the subconscious. “What if I hooked you up with a forensic artist? She might be able to help you create a picture.”
“I don’t know if I got that good a look at him.”
“Would you try?” He had two dead women and now a third woman, who fit the profile, being stalked.
“Sure. I’ll try.” She shook her head. “So I’m not losing my mind?”
He shook his head. “Y
ou were smart to listen to your instincts. I’ll be in touch.”
Jenna sat in her car cradling a hot cup of coffee she’d bought at the drive-through. Despite the day’s rising heat, a deep chill iced over her bones. The officer had come by and taken the doll’s head away, but its arrival coupled with Susan’s visit had unsettled her more than she was willing to admit.
Her phone rang and she tensed, ready to ignore it, and then she saw Rick Morgan’s name. Despite herself she smiled. “Detective.”
“Did my officer come by?”
“He did. Took care of business.” She considered telling him about Susan but decided there was no point. She was a big girl who could handle a reporter.
“Can I call in a favor?”
She closed her eyes and savored the heat of the sun. “I thought you already did that?”
“Okay, you got me. But I was hoping I could call in a second favor?”
A smile tipped the edges of her lips. “I think this will be the third.”
“Rachel asked for the other favor. Technically, this is my second.”
“By the way, did anything come of the sketch I did for Rachel and her client?”
“No. Not yet.”
A DUI case from a nobody wasn’t at the top of anyone’s list. Nice if every case got the same priority treatment but the reality was that time was precious and cops had to pick and choose. “So what do you need?”
“Another sketch.” He explained what was happening.
Jenna rested her head against the headrest. Just the idea of a job calmed her racing nerves. “Give me the address.”
It took Jenna thirty minutes and a few wrong turns before she found the dress shop in Franklin. It was a cute place, though she decided that wasn’t her style. It had the look of money, and she’d be willing to bet the dresses cost more than she’d ever be able to afford. She grabbed her sketchpad and slid out of the car. Rick Morgan emerged from the front door, looking much like a fish out of water. She had to smile.
“I thought your tastes weren’t pastel.”
He laughed. “Don’t underestimate me.”
The smile again transformed his face from stern and severe to almost handsome. She cleared her throat. “You need a sketch?”
