Page 111 of Paranoid

“She’s not lost, Lila; she’s

dead. Someone killed her.”

“I know . . . I mean, I’m not trying to be insensitive, just practical. So, Friday night here. I’ll let the committee heads know.” And she disconnected, leaving Rachel with her phone to her ear.

She couldn’t believe it. Lila was still going on with life, the damned reunion, as if nothing had happened. Oh, sure, she’d been shocked and upset, but she was willing to brush the two brutal murders under the rug in order to keep the celebration of their class on track. Two murders!

“It’s sick,” Rachel said to the dog as he pawed at the back door. She let him outside and tried to shake off the feeling of dread that had seeped into her bones. She was dead tired, hadn’t been able to sleep, and had decided to give the kids a break, especially Harper. Neither would go to school today; Rachel had already e-mailed their teachers for homework assignments, and so she’d let them sleep, checking in on them twice, just to make certain they were safely in their beds.

They were still asleep, even though it was now after ten.

The day had dawned murky, with a fog that had rolled through the town, thickening as the hours had passed. Now, she could barely see the fence line.

She poured herself a cold cup of coffee from the pot, then heated the cup in the microwave. Her eyes were gritty from lack of sleep, a headache was starting to form, and though she’d tried to answer e-mails this morning and work on updating a website for a local wine shop, she hadn’t had the energy. Her mind had wandered back to Annessa and Violet and their deaths.

Why?

Who?

She set her now steaming cup of coffee on the kitchen table and scrolled across the screen of her phone to get online. The Tuesday edition of the newspaper had dropped, and as promised, it was filled with more stories about the cannery. The front page alone had four stories directly or indirectly linked to the Sea View fish-packing plant. The first article that caught Rachel’s eye was a bio: “Who Was Luke Hollander?”

The text was thin, as no one from Luke’s immediate family had commented on the years Luke was a youth, growing up in the Gaston household. There were no direct quotes from either Melinda or Ned, and Rachel hadn’t provided any fodder when Mercedes had pressed during the aborted interview at her office. To help fill in the blanks of Luke’s life, Mercedes had relied on information from friends, teachers, and coaches. Some anonymous source described as someone “close to the family” had been quoted describing Luke’s home life.

Her mother would be devastated when she read the story.

“Great,” Rachel said.

The second article was all about the cannery’s history, how the plant had been built near the turn of the last century when salmon were fished in gill nets, before the tuna industry swelled. It mentioned how Sea View had grown to become a major employer in the area and then how it had slowly declined to eventually close, making note that it was the scene of a horrid tragedy twenty years earlier.

A third article was entitled “Waterfront Development Seeks to Restore and Renew.” The half-page story was a typical hopeful account of a new developer seeking to restore the old cannery building. That article showed some computer renderings of a shopping mall that reminded her of a tourist attraction from Portland or Seattle, as well as floor plans of apartments in the waterfront building and listed Bell Cooper and Associates as the developer. Clint Cooper was even quoted, bragging that the new shops, condos, and businesses would “breathe new life back to this part of Oregon.” He’d obviously been quoted before his wife had been murdered.

But homicide hadn’t eluded the Edgewater Edition. The final story was front and center, an article about Violet Sperry’s murder. The story itself was just a factual analysis of the crime, but Mercy did manage to work in that Violet had been present that tragic night at the Sea View cannery and had been a witness in the subsequent investigation involving the shooting.

“Nice tie-in,” Rachel thought aloud.

Next to the text was a picture of Violet Sperry seated on an oversized chair and surrounded by her three small dogs, all with long ears and doe-soft eyes.

Rachel’s throat tightened and she had to slide her gaze away from the photograph.

Skimming the rest of the paper, she found nothing on Annessa’s murder, of course, as it had happened too late for the paper’s deadline. As she looked for an updated version that mentioned Annessa, a text came from Cade asking about the kids: Harper okay?

Rachel texted back: Still asleep. I gave them the day off from school.

Cade: Good. I left texts for her and Dylan. Will call later.

Rachel: Any news about what happened to Annessa?

Cade: Not yet. Security guys coming?

She cringed inwardly and texted: Decided to order one online—self-install. Should be here later in the week.

Cade: OK. TTYL

She’d lied, of course, but quickly took the time to pick out and order an updated system, one with digital cameras that would work through a phone app. Only when she was done did she realize that Reno hadn’t scratched at the door to be let in. Pushing back her chair, she glanced out the slider. Reno wasn’t in his usual spot.

She went to the door and called for him, waiting for the dog to appear, but no tawny beast emerged from the yard. “Come on,” she said again and gave a sharp whistle.

Still nothing. “Reno? Reno, come!” Her voice was sharp and irritated as she slid into her gardening clogs and stepped onto the wet grass.