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“Do you think this is someone who lived here?” Sonja wanted to know. “Who maybe still lives here?”
So. Not everyone had bought the party line about an itinerant stranger.
Dana nodded. “I hate to say this, but it’s entirely possible.”
“What’s he been doing all this time, then?” Sonja persisted. “Did he just stop? I heard people who do the kind of things he did can’t control themselves.”
Dana pursed her lips. “That’s not exactly true. They control themselves until the urge builds and builds, then they seek relief again. I have a theory that he’s been active someplace else all this time, and we don’t know about it.”
They peppered her with questions, which she answered the best she could. She didn’t want to cut anyone off because it would be hard to get them talking again. This was almost a gift. Usually, she had to light a stick of dynamite to get her interviews completed.
Ivy kept everyone’s coffee cups filled and warm cinnamon rolls on the table. The women talked, the recorder hummed, and Dana listened to every word carefully. Some of these women were still holding themselves and their marriages together with frangible glue. Others had managed to center themselves, as Ivy had, for the sake of their other children.
But as Dana had expected, all the stories had one thread in common.
Clowns.
They had all been at events with clowns. The little knot of expectation inside her began to expand.
“Do you think the Chamber would still have records of who they hired?” she asked when the conversation began to wind down.
“I don’t know,” Letha answered. “But I could find out. I volunteered there back then.”
“I’d really appreciate it.” Dana handed over her business card with her cell number written on the back. “I hate to push, but the sooner you can do this the better. The sheriff said he might call in the FBI to help on the recent cases, and I’m hoping to interest them into looking at this.”
Ivy stopped in the midst of lifting her coffee cup to her lips. “The FBI’s here? Really? And you think they’d take a look at these murders after all this time?”
“Not yet, but I think it’ll happen, and I hope so. The more information I can give them, the better chance I have.”
Letha pushed her chair back and stood up. “I’ll go see what I can find out right now. Mila? We rode together. Are you okay with leaving now?”
Mila Garza swallowed the last of her coffee. “Yes. I volunteered back then, too. Maybe I can help you.”
The two women made quick goodbyes and hurried out to Letha’s car.
“Well.” Ivy looked around the table. “Maybe we’re finally getting somewhere.”
“It would be nice to have some answers after all this time,” Natalie said, her face pinched with bitterness. “Maybe Frank and I could figure out a way to talk to each other again. Twenty-five years is a long time to live with a ghost.”
“I want to thank you for this,” Dana said. “You’ve helped me immeasurably.”
“If you can do anything to find answers for us after all this time, I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” This from Sharon, who had such sadness in her eyes that Dana wanted to weep for her.
Somehow, in some strange way, it was helping her with her own problems to see other people who’d been affected by what happened. She wasn’t alone in her grief or in the damage to families. But she was the only survivor. She was the only one with nightmares so personal that her life was frozen by them.
At least until Cole.
Oh, yes. Cole.
She swallowed a tiny smile.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“So. Finally, awake.” He looked at the woman tied naked to the bed.
Her eyes widened with fear as she looked at him, then around the one room cabin.
“I’ve been watching you.” He laughed when she tugged at the restraints and disbelief mingled with the fear in her eyes. He knew what she was thinking. He was everyone’s friend, a pillar of the community. Well respected. His best disguise.
