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"Thanks,Officer Davis. Let's go inside."
As they walkedthrough the open double doors, Morgan couldn't help but notice the art adorningthe walls – expensive abstract paintings and intricately carved sculptures,each placed with meticulous care. But there were no family photos, no snapshotsof laughter or love. The lack of personal touch made the opulent home feelcold, almost sterile.
"Seems likean oddly lonely place for someone so well-off," Morgan mused aloud, hervoice echoing through the empty halls.
"Moneydoesn't always buy happiness, I suppose," Officer Davis replied, leadingher further into the house, where more officers and personnel were millingabout, their expressions grim. "Apparently, she didn't have any closefamily."
"Or friends,it seems," Morgan muttered under her breath. As they continued their walk,she couldn't help but compare this new crime scene to the last one. Sheryl andBethany were both wealthy, both alone, and now both dead. The similarities weretoo striking to ignore. Morgan could feel the familiar tightening in her chest,the pressure of needing to find answers before another life was taken.
Officer Davis ledher to the living room, where other officers were busy collecting evidence.Morgan took a deep breath, preparing herself for the gruesome sight she knewawaited her. The face of the last victim flashed in her mind, the mutilatedremains haunting her even now. She steeled herself and stepped inside,determined to find justice for both women.
Morgan's eyeswere immediately drawn to the center of the living room, where Bethany'slifeless body lay. The victim was sprawled out on the pristine white carpet,her limbs limp and askew. Morgan couldn't help but wince at the sight beforeher. Like Sheryl, Bethany's face had been mutilated in a grotesque imitation ofa facelift. The skin around her eyes and mouth stretched unnaturally tight,leaving her features distorted and barely recognizable.
"Definitelythe same killer," Morgan muttered under her breath, her fingers curlinginto fists at her sides.
Anger bubbledbeneath her cool exterior, but she forced herself to focus on the task at hand.
"Any sign ofa struggle?" she asked, turning to Officer Davis.
"Nothingobvious," he replied, shaking his head. "It's almost like she let himin willingly."
"Or didn'thave time to react," Morgan added, scanning the room for any possibleclues. Her gaze landed on the fireplace mantle, where an assortment ofexpensive knickknacks and vases were displayed. Among them, one small framedphoto caught her attention.
Morgan steppedcloser, reaching out to pick up the photograph. In it, a younger version ofBethany stood arm in arm with another woman. They shared a strikingresemblance, their smiles wide and carefree as they posed for the camera.
"Could be asister or a close friend," Officer Davis suggested, observing the photoover Morgan's shoulder.
Morgan carefullyslid the photo from its frame and flipped it over. Scrawled on the back in neathandwriting were the words 'sisters Bethany and Mary.'
"Mary,"Morgan whispered, her brows furrowing in thought. She knew she needed to findthis sister and see if she could shed some light on Bethany's life and,ultimately, her death.
Morgan continuedto study the photo, trying to glean any further insight into the sisters'relationship. But the only way she could know for sure was if she talked to Maryherself.
***
Morgan slid intothe driver's seat of her car, the image of Bethany Good's lifeless body stillheavy on her mind. She couldn't shake the image of the once-beautiful woman,now marred by a twisted facelift from hell. The similarities between Sheryl andBethany were undeniable, and Morgan found herself gripping the steering wheeltightly, her knuckles turning white.
"Focus,"she muttered under her breath, letting go of the wheel and opening her laptop.As it whirred to life, Morgan pulled up Bethany's public records, scrollingthrough page after page of information. Wealthy, well-connected, and noimmediate family to speak of - no children, no spouse, only her sister, Mary,who lived in Montana. A cold feeling settled in the pit of her stomach as sherealized how alone Bethany had truly been.
"Mary,"she whispered, typing her name into the search bar and finding a phone numberfor her. With a deep breath, Morgan dialed the number, bracing herself for theconversation that was about to unfold.
"Hello?"came a cautious female voice on the other end.
"Hi, is thisMary? Mary, uh, the sister of Bethany Good?"
"Yes, thisis Mary. Who is this?" The voice was guarded, and Morgan could practicallyfeel the tension through the phone.
"Mary, myname is Special Agent Morgan Cross. I'm an agent with the FBI," she said,trying to keep her tone steady and professional. "I'm sorry to bother you,but I need to ask you a few questions about your sister."
"Issomething wrong? What happened?" Mary's voice wavered with concern, andMorgan found herself hesitating for just a moment before answering.
"Mary, whenwas the last time you saw or spoke with your sister?" she asked, decidingit was best to gather as much information as possible before breaking the news.
"It's beenyears, actually," Mary admitted, her voice tinged with sadness. "Wegrew apart. Why?"
Morgan steeledherself, knowing that there was no gentle way to deliver such tragic news."I regret to inform you that your sister Bethany has been found dead. Itappears to be a homicide." She paused, allowing Mary a moment to process theinformation.
The line wentquiet, and for a brief second, Morgan wondered if Mary had hung up. But thenshe heard a soft, anguished sob on the other end. "Oh, God," Marywhispered, her voice choked with tears. "Who would do such a thing?"
