Pretty When She Kills (Pretty When She Dies #2)(19)

“He’s just hanging out by the gate taking photos,” Pete said as Samuel stepped next to him.

“The road is public land,” Ray said, frowning. “Not much we can do if he doesn’t come on our property.”

“I can go check it out,” Pete offered. He scratched at his black goatee, his blue eyes nervous. “Maybe I can get him to leave.”

“Nah. I’ll go set him straight,” Samuel responded. With a weary sigh, he shoved open the screen door.

Their boot heels thudded across the porch as the men headed toward the stairs. Samuel knew that Ray and Pete were right behind him. They were good guys and he was glad for the company. He was getting too old to do all the ass whooping. If he was lucky, the reporter would shove off without any trouble and he could get back to his plate of cooling food.

Strutting up the gravel drive toward the gate, he hooked his thumbs onto his belt and fastened his blue-gray eyes on the man snapping photos of his home. Damon quickly caught up with them, holding his shotgun casually in one hand.

“Should we call the police?” Damon asked.

“Nope. Gonna handle this ourselves,” Samuel answered.

The man on the other side of the fence noted their approach, but didn’t seem concerned. His cowboy hat was pulled low on his forehead and his eyes were hidden by dark sunglasses. In his hands was a very fancy, very expensive camera. On the road behind him was a big black truck with a small travel trailer attached to it. Samuel didn’t like the man’s long duster that flowed in the warm summer breeze. It could hide all sorts of weaponry.

“Good afternoon,” the man said, just as Samuel started to open his mouth. “Lovely homestead you have here.” The accent was Southern, but not Texan.

“Thank you, sir, but I need to ask you what you’re doing taking pictures of my place,” Samuel answered, folding his arms over his chest.

It was difficult to tell what the man truly looked like. His face was hidden by the shadow thrown by his hat and his sunglasses. The one thing did that show clearly was his wide smile. “Oh, I’m an investigator. I’m just taking photos for my files.”

“You’re a policeman?” Ray asked skeptically.

“Private investigator. I’ve been hired to look into the so-called Satanic Murders.”

“Police closed that case when they found Professor Sumner’s body. He killed himself,” Samuel answered. He didn’t believe the official story he had been fed, but he didn’t like strangers hanging around his property.

“They never found your daughter’s body, did they?” The man tilted his head and Samuel caught a glimpse of the man’s dark eyes.

“She’s dead, sir. We had a funeral. Maybe one day we’ll find her body, but the police said they found the spot where she died. Lots of blood, too much lost to be alive,” Samuel answered gruffly.

The policeman had shown Samuel the pictures of the bloodstained wall. Amaliya had been killed behind the dorm. The foundation and bricks had been dark brown with her blood and the ground had been saturated with it. The police were convinced that the killer had temporarily buried her body and later retrieved it, storing it in her dorm room. The police weren’t sure why Professor Sumner had taken Amaliya’s body with him, but Samuel suspected the truth. His daughter had woken up buried in the ground and found her way back to her dorm room before trying to come home.

The stranger nodded his head. “That’s what the newspapers said. Don’t you think it’s odd that Professor Sumner took her body?”

“He was obsessed with her,” Ray said defensively. “All the papers said so. They even said he was trying to date her. He was a sick bastard and I’m glad he killed himself.”

Beside Samuel, Damon shifted uncomfortably, casting his eyes downward. Samuel hoped his younger son would keep it together. He knew for a fact Damon still slept with a shotgun next to the bed ever since the night he last saw his sister.

“That’s what they said, true,” the stranger said.

“Sir, what is your name? I’d like to see some identification,” Pete said briskly.

With a wry smile, the man reached into his pocket.

Samuel automatically stiffened while Damon slightly lowered his shotgun.

“Ethan Logan, Private Investigator.” The man flipped open his wallet then extracted a few cards from the well-worn leather. He handed one to each of the men standing on the other side of the fence.

“Who hired you, Mr. Logan?” Samuel asked, curiosity getting the best of him.

“That is private, Mr. Vezorak. Let me just say that you were not the only family to suffer a loss that terrible weekend. Other families are grieving as well. The bodies of their loved ones were recovered, but yours was not.” Ethan snapped his wallet shut and shoved it back into a pocket inside of his long duster.

“She’s dead, Mr. Logan,” Samuel said, fear beginning to claw at his insides.

“What are you insinuating?” Pete asked defensively. “Amaliya died just like everyone else.”

“She was a suspect for a short period of time because her body wasn’t found,” Ethan said in a voice that was both accusatory, but nonchalant.

“Hey now, my sister had nothing to do with those murders!” Ray took a threatening step forward, his hands clenched into fists.