Page 51 of Fire Fight

I nodded in agreement. “I used to work at theSun Times, so I can say with certainty even big city papers aren’t as meticulous as this.”

Ginny positively beamed. “Get yourself settled, dear. Feel free to print anything you need. When you’re done, I’ll have those yearbooks waiting for you at that table over there,” she promised, indicating a spot across the room.

“Thank you for your help, Ginny. I really appreciate it.”

“Whatever it takes,” she assured me. “I’ve lived in this town my whole life, and I’m tired of being afraid I might be next—or one of my daughters or granddaughters.”

Then she disappeared, leaving me to my work.

From my backpack, I withdrew my notepad that had all the dates of the murders written down. Starting with the first back in 1985, I was greeted by the front page of theDusk Valley Gazettewith an impossible-to-miss headline.

PROM KING AND QUEEN BRUTALLY SLAIN

Accompanying the story was a photo of the car in which Vicky Lee and Roger Stanhope had died. It had been so badly burned, I couldn’t discern the color or even the make and model. A quick scan of the article revealed it to be an AMC Pacer, and it had belonged to Roger. The car was a two-door compact, and Vicky and Roger had been found wrapped around each other in the back seat. I also knew from Crew that the two had sustained bullet wounds to the head which ultimately killed them.

Giving in to a brief shiver over the knowledge that this same person had their hands on me, could’ve easily endedmylife, I printed the article and kept moving.

After that, the MO of the killer changed, first moving from the car—which I now recognized as a crime of opportunity—to house fires they tried to pass off as accidents, eventually graduating to abandoned commercial buildings. Seemingly random incidents save for a single similarity: they all happened on prom night.

There was something strange about that to me. Why would this person so obviously connect their crimes together when altering the date of their attacks would’ve kept the police off their trail entirely?

By the time I reviewed the coverage for the final victim before myself—Erica Hughes, murdered three years ago at the age oftwenty when she’d been home from college for the weekend—a headache was building behind my eyes, and the sky beyond the windows of the library had turned hazy and golden. Checking my watch, I realized how late it had gotten.

Gathering my things, I headed back toward the information desk, where Ginny bustled around, preparing to lock up for the evening.

“I’m so sorry I made you get all those yearbooks out for nothing,” I said sheepishly as I shifted my bag around in search of my wallet.

“It’s really no problem dear. You can come back anytime. I’ll set them aside so they’re ready for when you do.”

I took a ten out of my bill fold and stuffed it into the tip jar. Though for her kindness alone, I owed her much more.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” I blurted.

The woman was already as grandmotherly as it got, her entire countenance softened further with my question.

“Everyone deserves a helping hand, dear. I’m sorry to hear the people of this town have been…shall we say, less than welcoming? But I promise, you’ll find nothing but support here.”

Before I could stop myself, I reached for her, hugging her as tightly as possible while mindful of her frailty. Something told me Ginny was stronger than she looked, though.

“I’ll be back soon,” I promised when I pulled away.

“I look forward to it.”

Then I moved toward the exit. Thanks to my ordeal, I was more than a little wary about exiting buildings alone this close to nightfall. Sunlight still painted the horizon, but the shadows were lengthening, so I withdrew my taser from my bag as I crossed the lot to Black Betty.

I only relaxed fully when I was behind the wheel, doors locked and on my way back to Crew’s.

sixteen

. . .

CREW

I wasdamn near climbing the walls by the time tires crunched on the drive. Rushing to the window, I breathed a sigh of relief when Aspen got out of her car. But I wasn’t going to let her off the hook that easily, and I met her at the mudroom door, hands on my hips and a scowl on my face.

“Where have you been?”

Her forehead scrunched in confusion as she said, “I told you I was going to the library.”