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The tingle spread, setting off a vibration in her nerve endings as she tried to visualize the photo. The vague composition materialized, but none of the faces came into focus. She’d been too busy inhaling Marc’s aftershave as they paged through the album to pay attention to the details of the pictures.
“Mr. Wallace, could you snap a photo of that picture and text it to me?”
“I’d be happy to as soon as we hang up.”
“Where in the photo is Alison?”
“To Michelle’s left. Has this been helpful?”
“It may be. I’ll let you know if it leads to anything.”
Less than a minute after they ended the call, her phone pinged with the photo.
Bri opened it at once. Homed in on the girl to Michelle’s left and enlarged the image.
The hairstyle and color were different, and twenty years had passed, but the mouth and nose were the same.
It was Alison Stephens.
But Alison said she hadn’t recognized any of the names on the list.
If Alison and Michelle had had a falling-out, however, it was possible she hadn’t known Michelle’s married name. And the Larry on the victim list might not be the same Larry that Wallace had mentioned. The one Michelle’s friend hadn’t liked.
Yet the man had died in a boat on Lake Springfield. Near Alison’s hometown.
He’d also died in a fire, like all the others, with drugs in his system.
And Alison knew fires. Plus, as a firefighter/paramedic, she would have access to drugs.
Heart hammering, Bri tried to organize her scrambled thoughts.
Was it possible her margarita-loving friend could have played a role in multiple deaths?
It seemed absurd.
But if the Larry that Wallace had mentioned was the same one Michelle’s friend had talked about, Alison had a connection to at least three of the people on the list. Perhaps more.
That was a fact.
A very disturbing fact.
She needed to talk to Alison. ASAP.
First, however, she had a date at a pumpkin patch. One that could potentially lead to more answers.
Bri skimmed her watch again. No time to go through clearances at the Kirkwood PD to get police backup. She’d have to call Sarge, give him a fast download about her rendezvous, and ask him to place that call. He could cut through red tape faster than she could. And surely Kirkwood would be able to get someone here in the next few minutes. It wasn’t that large of a town.
Ten seconds later, Bri connected with her boss, gave him a rapid-fire briefing along with a description of her attire, left her car behind—and tried to tamp down an unwarranted surge of unease. Getting spooked was silly. She had her Sig, and there was plenty of activity in the area.
As she hurried toward the pumpkin patch peopled by mothers and toddlers, dog walkers, and a few older folks sitting on benches, she examined the area. Customers were coming and going at the surrounding businesses, and street traffic, as usual, was brisk.
If someone wanted to stay under the radar or was up to no good, this wasn’t an optimal location for a meeting.
Taking a calming breath, Bri continued toward the display of pumpkins, gaze sweeping left and right. Nothing appeared to be amiss. A mother took a selfie with her little boy in frontof a stack of pumpkins. A middle-aged woman kept a tight grip on the leash of her German shepherd as she inspected the merchandise. A gray-haired man with a cane and glasses paused to adjust his tweedy Irish cap and peer at a sign about the upcoming Christmas market.
Everything was quiet and—
Boom!
