she explained about the phone call and what she’d found at Shondra’s.
“Did you call Sheriff Waters?” Hale asked.
“Yes, I told him about the message, but he blew me off. Said to bring him evidence.” She kicked at the floor with her boot. “So I came to Shondra’s and found it.”
“I’ll let him know, then send a team to process Shondra’s trailer right away.” He hesitated. “And Ellie, for God’s sake, be careful. If this killer sent you those messages, he may be watching you.”
A shiver rippled through her. He was right. The killer wanted her involved in this case.
That was his first mistake.
Later, while the crime team—fresh from the body at Ole Glory—processed the place, Ellie pulled herself together enough to canvass the neighbors. That turned out to be a bust.
The lady two trailers down had coke-bottle glasses and a hearing aid. The man on the other side of Shondra was three sheets to the wind. The two millennials next door claimed they’d been at a keg party the night Shondra disappeared, and the middle-aged couple with the two Labradors across the street had been at the ER because the man had a gallstone attack.
Exhausted and with her head crowded with images of what might be happening to her friend, Ellie returned to the trailer and found one of the crime techs deep in Shondra’s closet.
“Does Shondra have any kin or family to call?” he asked.
“No,” Ellie said. “She lives alone.”
“Are you sure? There are clothes in a size two and others in size twelve.”
Ellie checked the tags. He was right. The smaller sized clothes were also a more feminine style than the staple jeans and shirts Shondra wore.
Ellie scratched her head, trying to remember what Shondra had said about meeting someone. But then Penny Matthews had gone missing, and after that, she’d forgotten to ask her friend about it.
“She may have a girlfriend,” she murmured. “Check her phone when you get it charged and let me know what you find.”
He nodded, and Ellie went to the kitchen, finding the calendar Shondra kept on her desk. Quickly thumbing through it, she saw several notations about meeting a woman named Melissa White. A phone number had been scribbled below one of the dates.
Lifting her phone from her pocket, she stepped onto the front stoop. It was 11 p.m., and Melissa might be in bed. But she couldn’t put off the call. If Shondra had met her abductor before she’d been taken, Melissa might have helpful information.
Dialing the number, Ellie saw that the crows were still perched on the power line, their eyes darting towards her as if they were trying to tell her something.
Something she didn’t want to know.
Shivering, she yanked her gaze back to the driveway, tensing as a woman answered in a clipped tone.
“Hello?”
“Is this Melissa?”
“Yes.”
“Detective Ellie Reeves. I’m at Shondra Eastwood’s home, and I found your number.”
A shaky breath rattled over the line. “You’re that cop friend of Shondra’s, aren’t you?”
“Yes, and—”
“What is this about? Is Shondra okay?” Melissa cut her off, her voice rising with panic.
“I don’t know. When did you last see her?”
“A little over a week ago,” Melissa replied. “But I’ve been calling and calling and she hasn’t answered.” A cry escaped her. “I thought she was just mad and not picking up because we had an argument.”
“What did you argue about?”
“It was stupid,” Melissa said, tears lacing her voice. “We were talking about moving in together, and she wanted me to tell my parents, but I knew they wouldn’t approve.” So they were together, and Ellie had been barely paying attention. Guilt crushed her. “What happened to her?”
Ellie inhaled sharply and glanced at the crows, unable to shake off the antsy feeling. “Did Shondra mention anything strange happening to her lately? Did she say anything about someone stalking her or bothering her?”
“No… I mean she was upset with her boss, but that was nothing new. Now tell me what’s going on.”
“I don’t want to panic you, but I think she’s been taken.” Typically, she would hold back information, treat Melissa like a suspect. But this was no ordinary case or an instance of love gone awry––she’d received a message from the killer himself.
And he had her friend.
Thirty
Crooked Creek
Two hours later, Ellie sank onto her couch, still reeling from shock. Her hands were shaking as she dialed her therapist’s emergency number. Kennedy had given it to her the first time they’d met and promised they could do an online health video-call session anytime she needed.
Ellie