Page 12 of Scorched (Killer #2)

Paul spent the night on the couch, getting up every hour to go outside and check the perimeter.

The noise Brandon had heard had been the branch of a mountain laurel pushed into the glass by a steadily increasing northerly breeze.

Indian summer had come to an end in Breuer, the temperature plummeting thirty degrees overnight.

Before five o’clock, Paul headed out. The gray light of dawn edged the darkness out of the sky as he headed southeast into San Antonio.

Rather than wake the woman he’d almost made love to last night, he’d left a note on the table telling her he’d be back that evening and for her not to go anywhere without letting him know first. He’d scribbled his cell phone number at the bottom of the note.

First stop, his apartment on the northwest side of town, for a quick shower, shave and clean clothing.

The office would be practically empty at six-thirty.

Most agents didn’t arrive until closer to seven-thirty or eight if they weren’t out working a case.

He liked the early hours all to himself without interruptions.

Paperwork was hard enough to wade through on a good day.

As he started to walk out the front door of his apartment, he noticed that he had two messages on his voicemail.

He punched the play button. The first message was a call from a telemarketer wanting his mortgage business. Irritation made him hit the skip button harder than necessary. The second call started with dead air.

Paul sighed, his hand halfway to the skip button, when a disembodied voice rumbled from the machine. “Stay away from the teacher if you know what’s good for you.”

His heart skipped a beat, then kicked back into high gear, adrenaline shooting through his veins.

He replayed the message again and again.

The voice was so garbled, he couldn’t recognize it.

He left his apartment and headed for the office, hitting the number on his cell phone for Brian Thomas, the district’s techno guru.

Between the recording and the cell phone records, maybe they’d get a new lead on the killer before he took another life.

He managed to get into the office, meet with Brian, complete some pressing paperwork and leave without being interrupted more than ten times before eight-thirty.

Mel had headed for Breuer first thing that morning to question the victim’s family.

Cain had his head down for once, working the mound of background checks.

Paul avoided the man, not in the mood for another pissing contest on Cain’s assignment. He had a date to keep with the sheriff of Kendall County and just enough time to get there, if he hurried.

Before Elise had the chance to set her purse in her desk drawer at school, Gerri Finch marched into her room, towing an already frazzled Principal Ford behind her.

“Ms. Johnson, I’ve spoken to the principal concerning your behavior toward my daughter and she agrees you’re picking on her.”

“No, Mrs. Finch, I did not agree.” Principal Ford gave Elise a tight smile. “I agreed to listen to both sides of the story and that’s all.”

“Ashley has the right to free speech just like anyone else in the United States of America. It says so in the Declaration.”

“The Constitution, Mrs. Finch,” Principal Ford corrected. “Everyone has the right to free speech, but we have classroom rules to maintain order so that all students can learn. And these rules are what the students and the parents all agree to at the beginning of the school year. ”

“I don’t remember agreeing to any rules.” Gerri Finch tapped her alligator skin stilettos against the shiny linoleum tiles, making an angry staccato sound that beat in rhythm with the headache pounding against Elise’s temples.

Principal Ford sighed. “When you signed the signature sheet at the back of the student handbook, you agreed to the rules contained within.”

“Well, if I’d known it had such stupid rules in it, I wouldn’t have signed it.”

“Nevertheless, you did, and you and your child are bound by the rules.”

Elise fought back the smile of gratitude. At least one person was on her side this morning.

“We’ll see about that. Anyway, it goes, Ms. Johnson is picking on my daughter.”

The principal turned to Elise.

“Ashley likes to talk in class to the point she disrupts others from getting their work done,” Elise explained.

“She can’t help it. She’s smarter than the others.” Gerri’s chest swelled forward. “She gets it from both sides.”

“Ashley has been late to class five times.”

The principal’s brows rose as she turned back to Mrs. Finch. “Three tardies is enough to send her to Saturday school. Five is two more chances than she deserved.”

“But Saturday is the cheer competition. Ashley’s the captain. She has to be there. ”

“She should have thought of that before she arrived late for class for the fifth time.” The principal held the door open for Gerri. “Now, if you’ll come this way, we can continue this discussion in my office and let Ms. Johnson get on with teaching her class.”

Gerri Finch glared at Elise. “This isn’t over.

I know your game. I’ll make you regret targeting my daughter with your petty vindictiveness.

You’ll be gone before you collect your next paycheck.

” The woman’s voice dripped with venom, but she allowed the principal to hook an arm through her elbow and drag her away.

Elise let out the breath she’d been holding, sagging into her chair behind her desk. Wasn’t it enough she had someone depositing death threats in her cubby? Did she have to put up with over-indulgent moms as well?

Her eyes narrowed on the retreating form of Gerri Finch.

What did she mean by “I know your game”?

Would she know about Elise’s background?

She shook her head. If she did, she’d have shouted it from the rooftops of the school by now and had Elise canned so fast, she wouldn’t have had time to mutter the word but .

She shook off the thought and got down to the business of shaping young minds with lessons from the past. If only the past wasn’t prone to repeat performances.

Paul arrived at Denny’s at exactly nine. His gaze panned the tables and booths for the heavyset sheriff, spying him in the far left corner.

The sheriff waved a hand toward the opposite booth seat. “I’ve already ordered,” he said, lifting his cup of coffee toward the waitress and nodding at Paul.

Taking her cue, the young brunette hurried to the pot of coffee warming at the counter and collected a clean cup. She returned to their table and smiled at Paul. “You’re new around here.” She set the mug in front of him and poured steaming, fragrant coffee into it. “Need to see a menu?”

He hadn’t realized just how hungry he was until she’d asked. “No, thanks. I’ll have two eggs over-medium and wheat toast.”

She nodded without taking down a word he spoke. “That’s what I like, a man who knows what he wants.”

The sheriff’s chuckle followed her retreating form. “Mandy’s a pretty little thing. Watch out, though. She’s tough. Comes from hardy stock. Her parents own a small Angora goat ranch in the hill country near Sisterdale.”

Paul’s gaze followed the pretty Mandy, but his thoughts kept to a certain blonde he’d wanted more than anything to keep kissing last night.

“Thanks for the recommendation. But I’m not interested.

” He leaned back against the slick vinyl seat and sipped his coffee.

“What can you tell me about Alice Lauren Pendley?”

The sheriff’s mouth pulled into a tight line.

“Lauren was a good kid. Grew up here in Breuer, member of the 4- H club, graduated from University of Texas at San Antonio two years ago.” He shook his head, his gaze directed toward the window.

“Her parents were so proud. Neither one had ever been to college. Hardworking folks, always looking out for others. It’s a damned shame.

And Lauren was engaged to be married next spring. ”

Paul listened, waiting for the sheriff to get to the pertinent details of the murder investigation.

“Her mother called us the night before last when she didn’t come home from work.”

“Where did she work?”

“At the drugstore. She wanted to go to pharmacy school next fall. Had her acceptance and everything.”

“Did anyone see her leave?”

“The manager walked her to her car every night. Only he was off that night. She left by herself. No one saw her get into her car.”

“Is there a security camera for the parking lot?”

“Already checked it. The manager insisted the cameras were aimed at the guest parking up front and the employee parking in the rear of the building. Again, not that night. We don’t know if the wind or someone with killing on his mind shifted the camera to point at the treetops, but that’s all that was on the recording from eight o’clock that night until we confiscated the video at eight the next morning. ”

Paul leaned forward. “How do you know the shift happened at eight? ”

“We watched from the time Lauren got to work until she was scheduled to leave. We could see the camera shift around eight o’clock.”

“Fingerprints on the camera?”

The sheriff shook his head. “Not a one. But we found a brick close by and a dent in the camera casing. We did the math. It wasn’t the wind.”

“Could you trace the brick?”

“It was from the stack in Mrs. Veatch’s backyard behind the drugstore.” The sheriff looked up as Mandy delivered their plates.

Steam rose from the sheriff’s fried bacon and sausage, sending waves of tempting aromas toward Paul.

His own eggs and toast didn’t seem quite as appealing as the plate of heart attack the sheriff planned to consume.

“Did you review the indoor videos for customers entering and leaving around eight that night?”

“We’ve gone over and over the video. Neither the officers nor the store employees recognized most of the customers.”