Page 20 of Once Marked (Riley Paige #19)
Riley stood motionless, her gaze still held by the framed photograph. “Mr. Walsh,” she said, her voice sharp, “Could you tell us who this woman is?”
Steven Walsh shuffled closer.
“This one,” Riley said, indicating the image of the smiling woman that had caught her attention.
“Ah, that’s Elaine Winters,” the store owner murmured, his voice soft. “She was the founder of Tidal Beauties, back in the day.” His eyes glazed over with the sheen of recollection.
“Tragic story, really,” he added.
“Tragic how?” Riley pressed.
Walsh’s hands found support on a time-worn counter. His sigh filled the air, a prelude to the story that was about to unfold, and Riley’s senses told her that this was more than just a recounting of history—it could be a key to unlocking the present.
“She drowned, poor thing,” Walsh said, each word heavy with remembrance.
“It was back in ‘85, not far from here.” He paused, as if the past were a current he could still feel, cold and unyielding.
“She loved to swim, you see. Always said the ocean was where she felt most alive.” The irony of his last sentence was shocking, and he shook his head as if to dispel the ghosts that lingered.
“Mr. Walsh,” Riley prompted, “Could you tell us more about what happened? Any details you remember could be important.” She felt certain that Elaine Winters was a piece of the puzzle she had come here to solve—perhaps the key piece that would lead to the truth about what was happening right now on the Outer Banks.
Walsh took a moment to gather his memories, then he explained, “Elaine was the wife of a good friend of mine, Harry Winters. Harry ran a successful tourist business here on the Outer Banks. Harry and Elaine were quite the power couple,” Walsh reminisced, his gaze distant.
“They had a knack for business, turning local ventures into gold mines.”
“Tell us more,” Riley said.
“Elaine was also stepmother to Harry’s daughter, Diana.
Harry’s first wife died, you see, and Diana was 15 when he remarried.
Come to think of it, Diana was with Elaine when it happened.
Tried to save her, but couldn’t. She was devastated by it.
” Walsh’s voice trailed off, fading into the silence of the shop.
The chill that Riley felt was the cold touch of intuition. Her instincts were rarely wrong, and they were practically shouting now. Her voice low, she asked, “What happened to Harry and Diana after Elaine’s death?”
Walsh’s shoulders slumped. “They couldn’t bear to stay here,” he replied, his voice barely more than a murmur.
“Too many painful memories, I suppose. Harry closed down his business, and Elaine sold this store to me. They packed up and moved to Miami. Last I heard, Harry had gotten on his feet again business-wise. Winters Tourist Services is going strong down there.”
Ann Marie’s question broke through Riley’s contemplation. “And Diana? What became of her?”
Walsh’s face took on a somber cast, the lines deepening around his mouth. “That’s another tragedy, I’m afraid,” he murmured. “Diana also drowned, just a couple of years after they moved to Miami. Never clear if it was an accident or...”
Walsh’s voice trailed into silence, but his unfinished sentence reverberated in Riley’s head. Had the girl who hadn’t been able to save her stepmother committed suicide? Or fallen to a similar accident? Or could there be an even darker explanation for the death of a wife and a stepdaughter?
“Mr. Walsh,” she said, her voice steady despite the whirlwind in her mind. “Do you have any way to contact Harry Winters? It could be crucial to our investigation.”
Walsh nodded, a sense of purpose returning to his movements as he shuffled behind the counter to rummage through its contents.
“Got his business card somewhere...” His voice faded into the background noise of the shop as Riley waited.
Finally, he emerged victorious, holding out a faded card for Winters Tourist Services in Miami.
As she took it from him, the card felt like a key to unlocking the next door in this labyrinth of murder and mystery.
“Thank you for your help, Mr. Walsh,” Riley said, her words polite but her mind elsewhere. As they turned to leave Tidal Beauties, the photograph of Elaine Winters caught her eye once more.
The woman’s joyous smile was frozen in time, but it was the features that framed that smile that held Riley spellbound.
She saw the dead, wide-eyed stares of Billie Shearer and Julie Sternan’s reflected in the image before her.
The same high cheekbones, the same style of hair cropped close to the skull—Riley knew there were no accidents in a case like this.
The pattern was emerging, a ghastly echo of the past reaching out to claim new victims. If her hunch was right, they were dealing with someone whose obsession with Elaine Winters had turned lethal.
When the investigators stepped outside, the sun hovered low, casting long shadows across the sidewalk. For a moment, Riley allowed herself to feel the warmth on her skin, grounding herself in the present as they approached Sheriff Beeler’s cruiser.
“Beeler, Esmer,” she called out, her voice commanding their attention. Ann Marie and Sheriff Beeler paused by the car and turned to watch her, waiting to hear what she had to say.
“We have to reconsider our whole approach to this case,” Riley began, her words racing to keep up with the revelations unfolding in her mind. “The killer isn’t choosing victims at random. They’re specifically targeting women who resemble Elaine Winters.”
“I thought might be what you were getting from the old photograph,” Sheriff Beeler said with a note of skepticism. “You’ve got some idea that maybe the killer is choosing faces similar to Elaine’s.”
“Exactly,” Riley affirmed. “And the drownings, the posing of the bodies on the beach—it’s all tied to Elaine Winters’ death.”
Sheriff Beeler folded his arms across his chest, looking skeptical.
“That’s quite a leap, Agent Paige. It could just be a coincidence.
Some people look alike. Our victims weren’t exact matches, even though they did have similar coloring.
” His voice was steeped in the caution of experience, one that had seen too many false leads and dead ends.
“That’s why the crude haircuts—to enhance the resemblance,” Ann Marie observed. those were attempts to enhance that resemblance. “But why? Why an obsession in the first place?”
“That’s what we have to find out,” Riley admitted.
Beeler still looked unconvinced about the whole theory, and Riley understood his hesitation.
The patterns she saw were woven from both instinct and analysis, and they wouldn’t make sense to everyone.
But time was a luxury they didn’t have, and she couldn’t ignore the scream of her intuition.
“I’ve learned to trust these instincts, Sheriff.
They’ve led me down dark paths before, but they’ve also brought me face to face with things I needed to see. ”
They got into the cruiser, and Riley pulled out the business card with Harry Winters’ details. “I know it seems far-fetched, Sheriff, but this is significant. We need to talk to Harry Winters before we go anywhere else.” Her words were laced with the authority.
Beeler grumbled, but settled into his seat without objection and Riley dialed the number on her cellphone.
“Hello, Winters Tourist Services. How may I help you?” The receptionist’s voice crackled over the speakerphone, a distant link to the man who might hold the answers they desperately sought.
“This is Special Agent Riley Paige with the FBI. I need to speak with Harry Winters immediately. It’s urgent.” Her tone left no room for uncertainty or delay.
“Mr. Winters is currently out on the golf course,” the receptionist’s voice was apologetic but firm, a barrier between Riley and the man she needed to reach. “He’s not available at the moment. Mr. Winters does not take his cell phone with him when he’s playing a game. “
“Listen,” Riley said, urgency sharpening her words, “this is extremely important. The moment he’s available, I need him to call me back.” She rattled off her number, her eyes fixed Beeler’s expression, which reflected impatience and concern.
“Understood, Agent Paige. I will pass along the message as soon as possible,” came the clipped response before the line went dead.
“So what do we do now?” Beeler’s deep voice broke the silence that had settled in the cruiser.
Riley opened her mouth to reply, but the sudden blare of the police radio cut her off.
The Sheriff reached for the radio. “Beeler here, go ahead,” he said, and the voice on the other end crackled through the speaker, each word sounding urgent.
“Sir, we’ve got a report of a missing woman near Darnley. Given the recent pattern, we’re worried she might have been abducted.”
“Tell me more,” Beeler said.
“The woman’s name is Rachel Brennan. She was reported missing by her boss, Grace Mitchell, owner of Mitchell Realtors.”
Riley remembered Grace Mitchell from this morning—the kindly woman who took such care to comfort two traumatized women.
She’s having a terrible day, Riley thought with a pang of sympathy.
“We need to talk to Grace Mitchell,” Riley said into the microphone. “Where can we find her?”
“She should be at her place of business in Darnley. She told us she’d be there, available to talk with us.”
“Understood,” Beeler replied. “We’re on our way there.”
As Beeler revved up the cruiser, Riley sensed the puzzle pieces starting to shift, coming together to form a picture that was both terrifying and intriguing. However, the image was still blurry, and she knew that seeing it clearly was a crucial matter of life or death.