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“Someone stole it?” Trent was bending low, working on the fire again.
Letting her hair fall to her shoulders, she watched as Trent poked at the hissing logs, somehow soothed by it. “I think maybe it was Missy Albright or Roberto Ortega. They both had access.” She explained what had happened earlier in the day. How she’d found Missy in her classroom, how she’d run into Roberto while trying to help Maeve. “If someone looks through the phone, they could put two and two together and realize that I know Shay. Her name would come up on my contact list.”
“That’s a lot of assuming, but it gets worse,” he admitted as the fire began to sizzle and pop again. “I left you a message earlier, before I knew you’d be sleuthing around Lynch’s office. In my message I said I’d be waiting outside Stanton House.”
“No one picked up?”
“No. But it doesn’t mean they didn’t see that you had a missed call from me. Or they might have accessed your voice mail.”
“I’ve got a security code—”
“That probably wouldn’t be too hard to break. These kids are smart, and some of them have been working with cell phones and iPods and computers from the time they could walk and talk.”
“Damn.” But it was true. The teachers, too. Hadn’t she, herself, been at a computer keyboard from the time she could sit in her father’s lap and pretend to type?
He leaned a shoulder against the mantel. “Why do I feel things are gonna get a whole lot worse before they get better?”
“Because you’re psychic?” she teased, though she didn’t know why she was making light of the tense situation.
“If only.”
Outside, the wind continued to batter the house while inside the fire crackled and the electricity winked. They talked about the message she’d received and the one she’d seen in Maeve’s possession. “I want to talk to Nell Cousineau. She was on duty at Stanton House the night someone left me the note. If she left the note, I’m wondering how she wanted me to help her.”
Trent nodded. “Right. The note was vague.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s frustrating when an investigation hits a wall like this. The snow hasn’t helped.”
“But the sheriff’s department collected all that forensic evidence before the snowstorm. Haven’t they heard anything?”
“Nothing new, at least not that I know of. There’s a lot of pressure on the state crime lab to produce. We’re hoping to glean something from the analysis that will lead to the killer. But it takes weeks for DNA evidence to be deciphered, despite what they show on television. No murder weapon was found, but the ME says the wound on Drew’s head was consistent with some kind of hatchet or ax, none of which has been located.”
“Maybe the killer still has it,” she said, her stomach twisting a bit. “Maybe he plans to use it again.”
“So why not on Nona? Why go to all the trouble of trussing her up? Hanging her body?”
“Final revenge of a sort? To debase her? Part of the cult’s sick rituals?”
“If there is a cult,” he reminded her.
“God, Trent, I wish you would stop saying that. Can you honestly look at those files and tell me there isn’t something sick and dysfunctional going on here?”
“You’re definitely on to something, Jules, but I’m not buying into a conspiracy theory that came from one of those dysfunctional students. I know Shay is your sister, but she’s no angel.” One thick eyebrow lifted, questioning her. “In the end, if Shay’s notion is a big lie, I just don’t want you to be disappointed.”
“I think I can handle it,” she said, remembering another place and time, where once they had been a strong, vibrant couple, believing in the strength of their love. They had ended up fractured, apart, not trusting each other. They both knew all about disappointment.
She caught his gaze, wondered if his thoughts were traveling that old path that went to nowhere.
Long-buried feelings resurfaced, and she imagined for just a second what it would feel like to kiss him again. To touch him. To feel the strength of his corded muscles beneath her fingertips.
r /> God, she was a fool. One minute furious with him, the next minute fantasizing about him.
Get a grip, Jules.
Being close to him was just plain nerve-racking. Old memories had taunted her. Often, tonight, while working with him, for just a heartbeat, she had lost sight of the reason she was with him, why she was here.
And it was happening again.
Suddenly warm, she pushed up the sleeves of her sweater and cleared her throat. “Okay, let’s regroup here,” she said, feeling time racing by, worried sick that the killer would strike again. “We’re still not sure how the kids’ murders are linked to Lauren’s disappearance.”
“Or if they are.”
