“I thought we could go together,” Addison said.
“Why do you even want to go?” Brit’s stomach growled. The yogurt hadn’t been enough, so she padded back into the kitchen.
“I’m curious,” Addison said.
“I’m not,” Brit replied. “I don’t want to get into it now?—”
“We can talk later,” Addison said.
“Is Hawk going?”
“Yes, and I’m sure Rebel would have no problem going.”
“Hawk’s yourhusband,” Brit pushed back. “Rebel isn’t even my boyfriend.”
“Well, heshouldbe.” She could hear the smile in Addison’s voice. “Break’s over. If you decide to go, I’ll be your best friend for life.”
Brit laughed. “Thatusedto work on me.”
“Youaremy best friend. My ride-or-die sis. Feel better so you can train with us. Love you.”
“Love you too.” Brit hung up.
She made herself a sandwich and a cup of soup. The soup went down, no problem. The bread, though soft, felt like sandpaper on her throat, but she powered through it.
While eating, she combed through emails.
Yes!
The report came back from the crime techs who’d been at Kurt and Kayleen’s home. The kitchen and living room that had been wiped down with the same bleach mix used at the other crime scenes. No prints had been found in the kitchen and living room, but Kurt and Kayleen’s prints were everywhere else in the house.
Damn. We are not getting a break.
On a more positive note, the team found a clear lipstick case under the living room sofa. DNA was found on the lipstick, but no match had been made. Forensics confirmed the deep, red lipstick was used on all the victims’ foreheads.
Brit Googled the luxury lipstick brand. A single lipstick sold for two hundred dollars.
Big bucks for one stick.
She continued reading the report. The fingerprints on the lipstick case matched the partial print on the earring found at the second L crime scene.
Excitement coursed through her. Was the killer getting sloppy or was his killing spree over? Was B-U-L-L-Y his message?
Are the five dead women the bullies of AcornBoarding School?
Brit read through each of the homicide detectives’ reports again. Every family had stated their daughter was popular, liked, and kind.
They might not have known the truth.
She pulled up Kayleen’s case file, read through it, then called the home number listed.
“Hello,” a woman answered.
“Is this Mrs. Girabola?”
“It is.”
“Mrs. Girabola, I’m Agent Jules Marshall, FBI. I’m handing the serial killer case and I wanted to express my condolence over the loss of Kayleen.”
