of perfume and woman.
When he opened his eyes, his gaze had softened, and his lips naturally curled into a passable smile.
As with everything in his life, all roads led back to Ann.
PAUL THOMPSON’S CRIME FILES
Dana Riley is a self-described gypsy. She has been on the go since she could walk and likes moving frequently. In recent years, home has been in a small coastal town in Maryland, the foothills of North Carolina, and in Music City—Nashville, Tennessee—where we sit today. We are in a honky-tonk on Lower Broadway. It is a warm May day, the sun is shining, and Dana admits that these are the days she lives for.
“You want to know why I wrote Elijah?” In the thirty minutes we have been chatting over cold beers, she has already established a charmingly direct style.
“I do.”
“Saw him in the paper several years ago. The story was something about him being a genius and a success story of the prison system. But I was taken that instant. His eyes leaped off the page. I had a few too many beers, so I jotted him a note and told him so. I have written ‘fan’ letters to men in prison before, but you never know what to expect.”
“Why do you write men in prison?”
“They are lonely. And I feel bad for any animal, even a mean one, when they are caged. I cannot think of a worse thing.”
“You only wrote him a few letters, right?”
“Three while I was in Maryland. I had just gotten out of jail, and I knew I understood what he was going through.” She takes a sip of beer and swipes away foam coating her upper lip.
“Now that he is out of prison, what do you think about Elijah?” I ask.
“I think about him a lot,” she says softly. “I’m glad he got money from the state.”
“Are you worried about your safety now that he’s out of prison?”
“I’m not afraid of him, but others should be,” she says.
“What do you mean?”
“He knows who took what from him, and he wants it back.”
“Anyone in particular he’s going after?”
She sips her beer. “Dr. Ann Bailey.”
“What is it about her?”
“She knew him in college, if you know what I mean, and she got knocked up about that same time. Have you ever compared a picture of her kid to Elijah?”
“No.”
“If you’ve seen a picture of her boy, it ain’t a stretch to wonder, ‘Who is the daddy?’”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Missoula, Montana
Saturday, August 21
4:15 p.m.
Bryce pulled into Ann’s driveway. “I appreciate the help. I should have Dana Riley’s credit card transactions by tomorrow.”
“Call me when you get them. I’m wondering if the killer used her card like he did Sarah’s.”
“If he did, that increases the chances that there will be a surveillance camera that captured his image.” His wrist rested on top of the steering wheel. “You’ll be the first I call when I know anything.”
“Terrific.” A part of her wanted to linger and say something more to him. She was attracted to him but was not sure how to articulate it. Direct, coy, or subtle hints? Most women her age knew the ins and outs of romance. Her dating experience had stalled her senior year of college, and her two sexual experiences with Elijah had resulted in pregnancy. She wanted to explain some of this to Bryce, but even her out-of-practice self knew it amounted to information overload.
She reached for the door handle. “Have a good day.”
His gaze lingered on her. “You do the same.”
She got out of the car. Bryce waited until she pushed open the front door before he backed out of the driveway and drove off.
Frustration simmered inside her. “For God’s sake, Ann. You can observe an autopsy, but you can’t have a normal conversation with one man.”
The sun hovered overhead, and an edginess rippled through her body as she looked at the collection of boxes. She turned and left her house, locked the door behind her, and drove to the Beech Street house to check on Maura’s progress. The red truck was not in the driveway.
She parked. As she looked at the house, her nerves reflexively tightened, as if an archer were drawing them back like bowstrings. Her mind shifted to the last time she was in the house alone with Clarke.
“Come into the basement,” Clarke said.
“Why?” She had made the decision to leave him and was now waiting for the right time. Had he somehow figured out she was planning to take Nate and move out?
“I want to