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Ellie glanced back up at the overhang. “Must have gone off up there and nose-dived in. I’ll call the ME and a team to pull it out.” Then they could find out who was inside.
SEVENTEEN
WIDOW PEAK COLLEGE
Professor Roland Pockley sat beneath the live oak in the quadrangle at Widow Peak College, his reward for finishing his paper on medicolegal forensic anthropology, which would be in print next month. He was not only a professor of zoology but had been published in numerous professional journals, and police had consulted him as an expert in three cases over the last five years.
The sound of cars and voices filled the evening air, coeds pulling up to unload suitcases as they moved into the dorms. They’d been doing so all day.
Each year he watched the ritual between parents and children, as the new flock arrived, eager for their foray into their new adventure.
Some were teary as they said goodbye to their mamas and daddies while others obviously couldn’t wait to escape their parents’ watchful eyes. Starved for independence, they were excited to dive into the party scene, shredding their mother’s apron strings as they indulged in alcohol, drugs and sex.
He had been one of them once. Had attended this same school. Had imagined finding a different life for himself, one where his classmates didn’t call him names like Pockface and the girls didn’t laugh at his coke-bottle glasses or run and scream when they realized he was infatuated with insects and kept a collection of live ones in his bedroom.
College had disappointed at first. A place of fraternities and sororities. A place he didn’t belong.
Until he’d enrolled in Dr. Dansen’s criminology class on true crime. One entire semester was focused on the most famous serial killers in history.
Ted Bundy, Daumer, Dennis Radar the BTK, Ed Gein who inspired Leatherface inThe Texas Chain Saw Massacre, Harold Shipman AKA Dr. Death, Edmund Kemper the Coed Killer, Gary Ridgway the Green River Killer… The list went on and on. Each with their own MO, depravities, needs and perverted desires.
Each famous.
He smiled at what he’d learned in that class then glanced at a cute brunette who passed by. She rolled her eyes at him then dashed to a blond who embraced her into a hug. The two of them whispered, then threw another eye roll his way and started giggling.
He curled his hands into fists, digging his nails into his palms. She might be laughing now. Might be innocent.
But now she’d come to Widow Lake, she wouldn’t be laughing for long. And she certainly wouldn’t be innocent.
EIGHTEEN
WIDOW LAKE
Lorna Bea heard her father’s voice and crawled through the window into the bedroom. Quickly, to cover for being gone, she found her bag of books and stacked them on the bookshelf. The room was small and had a little dresser and plain white comforter. She’d dreamed of choosing her own bedding and paint for her room one day. And they’d stay in it like a real home.
She ran her fingers lovingly over the spine of her favorite mystery book, daydreaming. Maybe she’d take it down by the water under a shade tree and read it again this summer. Or maybe she’d be too busy exploring!
“You’ve always got your nose buried in a book,” her dad grumbled constantly.
So? Moving around so much made it hard to make friends. Besides, her daddy didn’t like her to get too close to people ’cause they asked questions. He didn’t have friends either but didn’t seem to mind. Said people were too nosy and got all up in your business.
The door was open but he rapped on it anyway. “Hey, girl. I got pizza for dinner.”
“Sounds good, Dad. I’m starving.”
She left her books on the floor, then followed him down the steps. The wood creaked, the air conditioner whirring. The living room and kitchen were one big room with a large round wood table separating them. The walls were dark paneling and a wild boar’s head hung in the living room over the stone fireplace. Creepy.
Nana’s messy gray hair was falling from her bun where she’d slept in the chair. She was setting out paper plates, and cups of water were already on the pine table. A knock sounded at the door and her father went very still, his big shoulders stiffening. Lorna Bea’s stomach did a flip flop at the sudden tapping of her father’s fingers along his leg. It was what he did when he didn’t like something or was on the verge of losing his temper.
Nana wrinkled her nose. “Wonder who that is.”
“I’ll see. You two stay here.”
Lorna Bea inched close to Nana who patted her shoulder while her father tugged at his Braves cap then opened the door. Betsy’s mama and daddy stood on the other side. Betsy and her brother hovered beside them. Betsy, with her big green eyes, looked past them at the boar’s head with fear, as if she thought it might come alive any second and eat her.
Lorna Bea knew how she felt. She’d hated the thing at first sight. Had wondered if someone who’d stayed in the cabin had shot it. Couldn’t imagine someone killing an innocent animal just for fun.
“We’re the Hammersteins,” the man said. “This is our little girl Betsy and boy Cade.”
