Till Death(73)

Rodriquez nodded. “We apologize for the inconvenience.”

“It’s okay.” Coldness seeped into my bones. “How can I be inconvenienced when someone . . . someone is dead?”



The room in the police station down the street looked like the ones on TV. It was small, walls a plain white with fingerprint smudges at chest height. There was a small round table and four metal folding chairs that weren’t particularly comfortable.

The ginormous SUV they’d driven me down the street in had extremely comfortable seating. Heated seats too. I didn’t even know why I was thinking about seats, but it seemed a safer thing to focus on.

I really owed Jason. Right now he was sitting behind the desk at the inn, having no idea what he was doing, but he was sitting there until Mom returned. I’d texted her on the way to the police station. I also hadn’t told her about Angela, because there was no way one could break that kind of news over text.

A shiver coursed over my skin.

Did Cole know I was with these agents? He was a federal agent himself. Wouldn’t he know? Maybe that was a stupid thought. Not like the FBI had one giant hive mind.

My hands were chilled despite the fact I had them shoved between my knees. I’d been escorted through the back entrance of the police station, down a narrow hall, and then deposited in this room with a small bottle of water.

The door opened, causing me to jump. My chin jerked up. Both agents came in. They weren’t alone. I relaxed when I saw Detective Tyron Conrad’s familiar face.

“Hey,” he said, taking the seat beside me. “Sorry about this. I didn’t know the agents were coming to get you.” His jaw hardened. “If I did, I would’ve been there to advise them that bringing you down here wasn’t necessary.”

“It was completely necessary,” Myers retorted.

Tyron huffed a laugh out as he leaned back in the chair, planting an ankle on his knee. “Landis is not going to like this.”

My eyes widened.

Myers stiffened. “This has nothing to do with Agent Landis.” Skin crinkled around his eyes as he sat at the table. “Miss Keeton, we’re going to be very blunt about what happened.”

“I don’t expect anything less,” I replied, taking a deep breath. “Why am I being spoken to about . . . about Angela?”

Tyron opened his mouth, but Myers answered. “You received a severed finger in the mail on Saturday. We’re pretty confident that finger belonged to Miss Reidy.”

Acid churned in my stomach. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

Tyron placed his hand on my arm. “Angela’s body was found this morning. The ring finger on her left hand was missing.”

Pressure clamped down on my chest, squeezing tight like a vise. When I spoke, it sounded like I did so inside a tunnel. “Where . . . where was her body found?”

“I think you know the answer to that,” Myers stated.

My gaze shot to him.

“Her body was found by the old water tower off Route 11,” Rodriquez spoke up, voice gentler.

“Oh my God,” I whispered, inhaling roughly.

Rodriquez rested an arm on the table. “She was found in the same location the victims of the Groom were discovered and in the same location—”

“The woman from Frederick was found there.” I pressed my palm against my forehead. Bitter panic mixed with sorrow, increasing the pressure in my throat and chest. “I don’t understand.”

“I think you do,” Myers retorted.

Tyron dropped his foot to the floor with a heavy thud and leaned forward. “What in the hell is that supposed to mean, Myers?”

Lowering my hand, I looked at the agent. He was sitting back, arms crossed over a puffed-up chest. “What I’m saying is that Miss Keeton seems like a bright woman. She can put two and two together. We’ve got a copycat on our hands . . . or we got someone trying to make it look that way.”

Anger spiked, pushing down the horror. “Yes, I can put two and two together, but that sure doesn’t tell me why you insisted on bringing me to the police station to tell me this.”

“Because if it is a copycat, then you may be able to add some insight into our investigation,” Rodriquez explained, his gaze steady. “You were the only victim of the Groom to survive—”

“I know that.” My hands were trembling so I shoved them back between my knees. “I know that I’m the only one.” The room felt like it had shrunk. I glanced at the door, wanting out of here so badly. I looked at Tyron. “What happened to Angela?”

Voice low, he said, “Current evidence suggests she was strangled.”

“Oh God,” I whispered, closing my eyes and immediately regretting it. I saw Angela but with horrible marks around her throat. The kinds of bruises that snuffed the life out of someone. “Was she . . . do you know if she was held captive?”

“There was evidence suggesting she was held,” he explained, and I knew what he was referencing without him even elaborating. If she’d been restrained the way the Groom had held his victims, there’d be ligature marks on her ankles. Her wrists.

“Was she . . . was she sexually assaulted?” I asked.

“We don’t know yet,” Tyron responded.

The contents of my stomach shifted as I placed my elbow on the table and rested my forehead in my palm. “Does her . . . boyfriend know?”