Love, Mommy
Ellie’s heart filled with emotions at the pain in the teenager’s message. Yet her comment seemed eerily similar to the message in the note they found with Minnie.
Seconds later, she moved on to the next file: seventeen-year-old Jordan Orwell. Her baby had been adopted at birth. Her suicide note:
Dear Connor,
I love you, little guy and I’m sorry for leaving you. But I don’t deserve you and know you’re better off with a smarter mommy than me. I hope you have a great life.
Love, Mommy
Ellie rocked back in her chair and massaged her temple, struck by the similarity in the girls’ verbiage. The handwriting in each one was shaky as if the teenagers were overwhelmed by what they were about to do. It also reeked of love for their children.
The hairs on the back of her neck prickled.
Another similarity—the girls said they didn’t deserve to be a mother. Each also had heavy amounts of alcohol or drugs in their systems.
All the what-ifs screamed through Ellie’s mind.
What if none of the girls’ deaths were suicides? The killer could have written the notes or forced the girls to write them. Hazel and Clara both claimed Minnie was committed to AA.
A theory formed in her head. What if the girls were murdered by the same person, a person who didn’t think they deserved to be mothers? What if the killer had drugged them or poured alcohol down their throats then killed them?
She pulled the photo of the names etched on the boulder Deputy Rouse had shown her, then used her magnifier to study the writing style and letter formations.
Dammit, they’d been carved by the same person, which connected the cases.
Just as she’d feared, they were dealing with a serial predator.
Was he searching for a new victim now?
FORTY-TWO
Dalton
Dana Jo Glasser was determined to pull herself out of the dumps today and take care of her two-year-old little girl. She didn’t know why seeing that press conference about Minnie Benton and her missing child had upset her so much.
Because you have a little girl just like Minnie did. Last night, she’d lain awake for hours wondering what had happened to little Iris.
Lou Lou bounced up and down, her rosy cheeks grinning. “Park,” Lou Lou said. “Park, park, go, park.”
“Yes, sweetie, Mommy’s taking you to the park.” Dana Jo dressed her daughter in her favorite pink kitty cat T-shirt and shorts. “And we’re going to swing and play in the sandbox and take a picnic.”
Lou Lou patted her tummy. “Juice.”
Dana Jo smiled. “I already packed your juice box. And Mommy put in raisins and applesauce and a PBJ.” Ever since Lou Lou had turned two, she’d begun talking more, which was fun. Her little girl was a sponge and seemed to soak up every word she heard and repeated it.
Although, the terrible-two tantrums had also begun and those were exhausting. With Dana Jo’s headache still lingering, she hoped nothing triggered one today.
She swept Lou Lou’s soft blond baby-fine curls into a ponytail then scooped her up and headed to the kitchen.
Her mother was at the sink, clearing away the breakfast dishes, and turned to her with a worried look, then seemed to brighten when she saw Dana Jo was dressed. “You must be feeling better.”
Dana Jo nodded. “A little.” Or maybe she was just determined to fight the darkness today and hold onto her child. Panic seized her at the thought of losing her. “I guess that news story about the missing child got to me.”
Her mother’s eyes softened. They both knew that since her attack, Dana Jo experienced multiple rough days each month.
“I can understand that. Worrying about your own child goes with motherhood,” her mother said softly. “When you were little, every night I’d wake up, go to your room and put my hand on your chest to make sure you were breathing.”
