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“That’s what you said last week.”
She glanced at the kitchen table. The truth was she’d been too consumed by her book submission and writing Meg’s article to think about it at all.
“I’ve just been swamped with work lately.” And planning a wedding felt like a chore she didn’t have time for. But she couldn’t tell Jared that. He’d been married once before, and they’d eloped, something he seemed to think contributed to the demise of their relationship. This time, he was set on having a proper wedding.
Holly gazed at the waning daylight out the window. She needed to leave in the next five minutes if she was going to make it to the post office before they closed. “Let’s talk about it at dinner.”
“Okay. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
Holly hung up, relieved he didn’t press her any further about it right now. She folded the flap on the manila envelope and pressed the two metal prongs flat. She flipped it over and stared at the addressed envelope, thinking how surreal it was to be submitting a true crime novel to a New York literary agent. Growing up, she’d fantasized about becoming the next Danielle Steel, writing love stories in a notebook in her room with happily ever afters to escape her parents’ arguments. It had been what she’d set out to do by majoring in English in college. But after Meg was killed, everything had changed.
Her childhood dream of having her name on a book cover had now been replaced with a burning desire to see Meg’s killer brought to justice. The more Holly built up her credibility as a writer and researcher, the better chance she would have convincing detectives—and the public—that the Green River Killer murdered Meg. Hopefully, this book would do just that.
Her phone rang again, but this time she ignored it. Envelope in hand, she headed for the door. When she reached for the door handle, her answering machine sounded from the kitchen. She paused to hear who was calling.
“Hey, Holly. It’s Sarah from theTribune. Sorry to bother you at home, I know it’s your day off.”
Holly retreated toward her answering machine. Had they discovered another Green River Killer victim? Her recent article had made it no secret that Holly had a personal interest in the serial killer investigation. Holly stilled, her attention sharpened, as theTribune’sreceptionist continued.
“But there’s a woman here who’s asking to speak to you. She read your recent article and says she knew your sister Meg. They roomed together at a group home the year before your sister died.”
Pulse racing, Holly swiped the receiver off the wall. She’d been looking for Meg’s roommate for years.
“Sarah?”
“Oh. Hi, Holly. I was just leaving you a mess—”
“Tell her to wait. I’ll be right there.”
Chapter 5
HOLLY
Holly was out of breath when she entered theTribune’s downtown lobby.
“Is she still here?” she asked Sarah, who hung up her desk phone as Holly came through the revolving door.
Sarah stood, motioning to a woman standing in the adjacent waiting room. Holly assessed the woman wearing pleated acid-washed jeans and a matching jean jacket before approaching her. As a crime reporter, she was used to getting bombarded with all kinds of tips on high profile cases, most of which turned out to be bogus.
The woman came toward Holly with eager eyes. She looked a few years younger than Holly, which would make her the right age. If Meg were alive, she would be twenty-three. According to the woman who owned the group home, Meg had been only a few months older than her roommate. She stood nearly a head shorter than Holly, probably just over five feet tall. Her yellow-blond hair revealed an inch of dark brown roots.
“Holly?” she asked, gripping her purse with a white-knuckled grip.
Holly nodded. “You knew my sister?”
Meg’s roommate’s name was Callie, but Holly wanted the girl to say it first.
She swallowed. “I did. I’m Callie. We roomed together at the group home in 1979, the year before Meg... We were both seventeen. I’m so sorry about her…” She pressed her lips together and broke Holly’s gaze. “Um. Her death.”
Shortly after Meg died, Holly had visited Meg’s group home, and the woman who ran the group home had said Meg’s roommate was the only person close enough to Meg who might be able to offer information related to her murder.
“I tried to find you after Meg was killed,” Holly said. “But the group home said you ran away shortly after Meg did.”
A horn blared outside amid the downtown rush-hour traffic.
When Callie met Holly’s gaze, there was pain in her brown eyes. “I was in a dark place. I lived on the streets for a few years, alternating between here and Portland. Making money however I could. Then I got arrested for drug possession and some other shit.”