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“We don’t have a cause of death, Mr. Daybrook.” Jenna took out a notebook and pen and placed them on the desk. “She was found dead in her home. Do you know if she had any health issues?”
“Not that I’m aware.” Daybrook shook his head slowly. “She never took a personal day in the time she worked here. This is why I called to check on her. I was concerned. Living alone in this town can be dangerous for a young woman.”
“Indeed.” Jenna looked at him. “You mentioned to Deputy Kane that, out of all her customers, one man in particular dropped by a few times. Can you describe him?”
“He could be any one of many men around town. Stetson, cowboy boots, Levi’s. He wore a sheepskin jacket. I could tell by the collar.” He stared into space for a few seconds. “Snakeskin boots. They clicked when he walked, as if he wore spurs. That’s what drew my attention. It would be strange for a guy to be wearing spurs around town without a horse tied up outside, and there was no horse. I looked.”
Kane raised one eyebrow. He’d never use spurs on a horse. “Okay, do you recall what hair color he had? Did he have a beard or moustache? How tall?”
“Oh, six feet, maybe more. Hard to tell with a Stetson. Clean shaven, blond hair over his collar. Shaggy like.”
Glancing at Jenna, Kane narrowed his gaze. He’d just described FBI Agent Ty Carter, right down to his snakeskin boots with metal tips. “Okay. Did he pay by card and would you have a record of his purchases?”
“I already thought of that and went through the credit card receipts.” Daybrook shook his head. “I recall he purchased cleaning supplies and needed some assistance on what to buy. The next time he was asking about toasters. He paid in cash.”
“How about CCTV footage?” Jenna made a few notes and then looked up at him. “I see you have a camera watching the store.”
“Yeah, but it deletes every twenty-four hours. So was wiped clean at eight this morning.” Daybrook ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t expect anything like this to happen. Do you think this man was involved?”
“We don’t know.” Jenna folded her notebook. “Could you pick him out in a lineup?”
“The thing is, I was busy with customers and I didn’t get a good look at him.” Daybrook rubbed both hands down his face. “I’m so sorry. I should have taken more notice. If he comes by again, I’ll call you without delay.”
Kane stood and handed him his card. “Yeah, that will help. Thanks for your time.” He turned to Jenna. “We’ll split up and talk to the women behind the counter. They might know something.”
“Sure.” Jenna followed him out of the office door.
“Do you have a minute?” Sue Plant came toward them and dropped her voice to just above a whisper. “Is this about the man who came by three times to speak to Dakota? I saw the man, chatting to her after work on Wednesday last.” She frowned at Jenna. “If something happened to Dakota and I can identify the man she spoke to, I’m in danger… right?”
“If it’s who we think, no, you’re not. If you see him again, call us.” Jenna handed her a card.
Kane moved closer. “We’re just trying to find anyone who came in contact with Dakota. Mainly to discover if she mentioned anything about her plans for Thursday night.” He straightened. “So this guy, could you pick him out in a lineup?”
“No, I can’t say I got a good look at his face.” Sue narrowed her gaze. “He was tall, with blond untidy hair. He first came by Tuesday last. That’s the day I worked with Dakota. When he came inside, he headed for the appliance display, removed his Stetson and shook the rain off it, but was turned away from me. I recognized him more by his clothes and build.” She scrutinized Kane. “Not as tall or broad in the shoulders as you, but one size down maybe.”
“Does Ms. White work alongside Dakota?” Jenna glanced toward the woman serving a mother with a screaming baby.
“Nope.” Sue frowned. “She’s here to replace her at the moment.”
Kane nodded. “Okay, thanks for your help.” He led the way out of the store and stopped on the sidewalk and looked at Jenna. “What do you make of that?”
“They described Carter and it just so happens he’s in town.” Jenna looked at him. “I guess he could be fixing up his cabin.”
Kane shrugged. “Well, one thing’s for darn sure, he’s not killing women.”
FIVE
Scanning Main both ways, Jennifer Kriss ran across the blacktop to her vehicle. The town from Halloween to Thanksgiving and right through the holidays was filled with people. The town where she’d spent her childhood was vastly different from the Black Rock Falls of today. Most times she wouldn’t worry about vehicles following her, but over the last week she had the distinct feeling someone was following her home. Living some ways out of town had been a fun idea when she’d purchased the house from a large sum of money her uncle had left her. The old home, built eighty years ago, had a large footprint with room to move. Five bedrooms, each with their own bathroom, made it perfect for her and her two college friends to move into. They’d had fun living together, but one by one they’d married and moved out, leaving her all on her lonesome. She didn’t mind so much during the summer, but in fall and winter the sleeping trees and dead vegetation all around her made the house creepy.
The upkeep of the house was getting expensive. An old house needed constant repairs and she’d posted a flyer in the window of the market asking for housemates. Although it was some distance from the local college, the bus ran past the end of her road. She’d gladly live with up to three female students, but couldn’t put that on her flyer—although, it might be useful having a strong young man around to help with the maintenance. She’d even reduce his rent for some assistance. Jennifer climbed behind the wheel of her old Nissan truck and headed along Main. She glanced in her rearview mirror and swallowed hard. A familiar white truck fell in behind her and her stomach clenched. Convinced it was the same truck that had followed her home and driven past her driveway for the last couple of days, she slowed and took a left, and drove to the end of the road. Sure enough, the white truck followed. Fear knotted her stomach. Should she drive to the sheriff’s office and say she believed a white truck was following her? There would be hundreds of white trucks in town. Heck, her vehicle was a white truck.
The truck turned into a driveway, and relieved, she turned her Nissan around and headed back to Main. As Main turned into Stanton and the surrounding forest darkened the road, her heart raced at the sight of the white truck, following her again. Was it the same vehicle? It was way past the sheriff’s office now and she’d already driven past the Triple Z Roadhouse. That was the last possibly safe place to stop. Panic gripped her and she accelerated, driving faster than comfortable. She always drove within her limits and overtaking slower-going delivery vans and fuel tankers wasn’t her style. She bit down hard on her lip as the latter came into view. She moved out into the oncoming lane, and pressing the gas pedal hard to the floor, hoped her old vehicle would make it past before another eighteen-wheeler came hurtling along the highway. White-knuckling the steering wheel, she gasped in terror as the white truck merged in behind her. There was no doubt in her mind someone was following her. What could she do? She didn’t have a fancy phone that connected to her radio and taking her hands off the wheel at this speed would be suicide. One more mile and her turn would come up. Could she make it along her road and into her driveway? If she made a fast turn, maybe he’d sail right on past and she could make it home and dash inside?
It was her only chance. She accelerated at high speed, passed a gray van, and then slammed on the brakes, leaving a trail of rubber across the blacktop as she slid into the road leading to her home. Tearing off at breakneck speed, she bounced into her driveway, the driver’s-side door brushing against the gatepost with a sickening grind of metal. The back wheels spun, showering the tall blackened trees lining the driveway with gravel. Driving recklessly, she made it to the front porch, leapt from the truck, and dashed up the steps. With her hands trembling, she found the key and after four attempts managed to get it inside the lock. Panting, she fell inside the door and turned the deadbolt. She leaned against the front door, trying to suck air into her lungs. Petrified at the sound of a vehicle moving along the gravel driveway, she froze.
A door slammed and footsteps, unfaltering and determined, crunched toward the house. Too afraid to move, Jennifer pressed her back against the door. She needed help. Terrified, she plunged her hands into the pockets of her jacket and then realized in horror that she’d left her purse and phone on the front seat of the truck. There was no landline and now she had no way to call for help. Footsteps came on the stoop, making a loud tapping sound. Trembling all over, she waited. Where could she go? Dread paralyzed her. Had she locked the back door this morning? Unsure what to do next, she waited for a knock on the door, but nothing happened. At the sound of the tumblers falling, she jumped away from the door and gaped at the lock in disbelief. In her rush to get inside, she’d left the keys in the lock. The brass handle turned slowly and she tried to scream as the door swung open, but the sound was little more than a moan. Frozen with dread she stared at a smiling man standing in the doorway. Her gaze fixed on the muzzle of the gun in his hand. The gray round hole was pointed at her chest. She took a few steps back, unable to speak as fear gripped her by the throat.
“Hello, Jennifer.”
