Till Death(42)

News about Angela’s possible disappearance spread fast even though the town wasn’t that small. After dinner was served to the Mattersons and they retired to the room they’d rented, Miranda showed up and then Jason. They joined Mom and me in the kitchen.

Miranda was sitting on the kitchen island, legs dangling off, and it was a good thing James had already left, because he would’ve kicked her butt if he saw her on the counter.

Not minding where Miranda’s rear end was, Mom sat at the table with Jason, and I stood near Miranda. All four of us had fresh coffee in our cups. There’d been nothing on the news about Angela, which was frustrating, but I imagined someone like Striker would be all over it come morning. At least, I hoped he would be spending his time on something more useful.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Miranda stated, and it was probably the fourth time she’d said it, and like all the times before, she trailed off before saying what we all were thinking.

Everyone was avoiding saying it because I was there, so I went ahead and said it. “I can’t believe this is happening again.”

She sucked in a shrill breath as Mom pressed her lips together, casting her gaze out the window, onto the dark veranda.

“That’s what everyone is thinking, right?” I said, placing my cup on the counter behind Miranda. “The woman in Frederick was missing and they . . . found her body, and now this has happened.”

“Doesn’t mean these two things are related,” Jason argued, bending forward and resting his arms on his legs. “I heard that the cops were really looking at the Frederick woman’s husband.”

“That’s what they did before,” Miranda interjected quietly. “When the first woman disappeared, they swore it was her husband. Didn’t they actually arrest him?”

Mom nodded and her voice sounded distant when she said, “They did. It was Becky Fisher’s husband. Held him for several days until they released him, because they didn’t have any evidence.”

“And because Jessica Rae disappeared,” I said, rubbing my hands over my arms, chilled. “That was before people realized that when another woman disappeared, the other one was already dead, but everyone figured it out pretty quickly after that.”

Twisting toward me, Mom said, “Sasha.”

I bit down on my lip. “This is just too—”

“Coincidental,” Jason cut in, and my gaze went to him. “Look, all I am saying is that we might be jumping the gun here, assuming the worst. Not that anyone could blame anyone for doing it, but if Angela really is missing and that’s somehow tied to the woman from Frederick, then we’re dealing with a . . .” He took a deep breath. “Then we’re dealing with another serial killer, and what is the likelihood of this area having not one but two serial killers?”

I jolted, seriously unnerved. It wasn’t because of Jason, but what he said. Two serial killers. Pushing away from the counter, I snagged the mug and went to the sink.

“It’s probably not related, and Angela will show up tomorrow.” Miranda smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She didn’t believe it.

And I didn’t think any one of us did.

Conversation moved to some kind of drama Miranda was sensing at work. She didn’t know the details, but there’d been a lot of closed-door after-school conversations taking place. It started to get late, and Miranda and Jason moved to leave.

“I’ll see you later.” Jason leaned in, giving me a stiff one-armed hug that made me grin, because he was pretty terrible at hugs. “Walk you out?” he said to Miranda.

“Normally I’d tell you that wouldn’t be necessary, because I can kick ass.” Miranda hopped off the counter. “But I’m officially freaked out, so you can totally walk me out.”

“Be careful,” I told them. “Both of you.”

Miranda saluted me. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Sometimes I wonder if you’re a closet drinker,” muttered Jason.

“I’m an in-your-face drinker,” she replied, and Jason just shook his head as he walked her out of the kitchen, his hand on her lower back. My brows lifted. Was there something going on between them? If there was, I imagined Miranda would’ve said something. Why wouldn’t she?

I stood there for a moment. “I’m going to lock up behind them since the Mattersons are here.”

“Okay, honey.” Mom rose from the table. “But please come back. I want to talk to you for a moment.”

Nodding, I left the room and went to the front door with my hands pressed against the cool wood.

Two serial killers.

The air in my throat caught, and I opened up the front door, staring out over the lawn. The porch light and the lamp cast a soft glow that did nothing to chase away the shadows. Tiny bumps raced across my skin and the fine hairs at the back of my neck rose. Stepping back, I quickly closed the door and locked it like there was an ax murderer racing up the drive.

Mom was back at the table when I returned, all the coffee mugs washed out and placed in the dishwasher. She patted the table, and I walked over, sitting across from her. “How are you hanging in there?” she asked.

Biting my lip, I shook my head. “Tomorrow marks one week back home, and . . .” I lifted my hands helplessly before dropping them to the table. Talking about how I was dealing felt wrong when one woman was already dead and Angela was missing. “This isn’t about me. You shouldn’t be worried about me.”