you think he’s the Weekday Killer?” he finally asked.
“He’s violent and was mentally ill, but if he’s part of this, he didn’t do it alone. His violence was erratic. Our killer is a planner.”
His look hardened. “Let me wash my face. I’ll be right back.”
As he left the room, Ellie’s phone pinged. It was Heath again.
Just heard from the lab. Prints on Deputy Eastwood’s truck belong to Ranger McClain.
The words sucked the air from Ellie’s lungs. What? Why would Cord’s prints be on Shondra’s truck? There had to be an explanation.
By the time Cord returned, the coffee was ready, the air filled with the aromatic, nutty scent. He poured himself a cup and offered her one. Shaken from the text, she gladly took it and cradled the warm mug between her hands.
A quick glance around his family room, and she noted the taxidermy animals were missing. The bookshelf housing all its usual titles on nature, graveyard symbols and burial rituals was a mess, with books on their sides and askew. Her gaze was drawn to a closed door leading off the living space. She knew it didn’t lead to the bathroom or the bedroom, and Cord had never told her what was on the other side. She couldn’t remember ever having seen the door open.
For the second time, she wondered what was inside, what he didn’t want her to see.
Cord leaned his back against the kitchen counter and simply waited, with a guarded look.
“Why did you really come, Ellie?”
His words sounded like an accusation, a reminder that he was still on edge from the last case, when Derrick had questioned him. He wasn’t going to like her doing the same now, she knew that.
But it had to be done.
She relayed her conversation with the psychiatrist. “That leads me to dig deeper into the profile and look at his MO.”
“You’re talking about the wildflowers and the way he dresses them, as if he’s preparing their bodies for a funeral?” Cord asked through clenched teeth.
“It’s possible that he learned all of that online, but we have to consider the fact that he could have worked in the field, perhaps as a medical examiner, a mortician or funeral home director. Or he… grew up around that kind of work.”
Angry heat flared in Cord’s eyes. “That’s the reason you’re here? You think I had something to do with those women’s deaths?”
Ellie grimaced at the vehemence in his tone. “That’s not what I said.” She hesitated, knowing she was stepping into unwanted territory. “I know one of your foster fathers was Felix Finton and that he owned Finton’s Final Resting Home when you lived with him. What can you tell me about him?”
“You’ve been researching my background?”
Ellie released a slow breath. “It came up when the deputy was looking into the funeral home angle.” A tense heartbeat passed. “I’m sorry, but I have to ask.”
Cord’s throat muscles worked as he swallowed, then he spun away from her and dumped his coffee in the sink. “What can I tell you?” he said in a low but lethal tone. “I can tell you that you should stay away from him.”
“Why, Cord?” Ellie pressed. “Is he dangerous? Do you think he’s killing these women?”
“Not him,” he ground out. “He would be in his sixties by now.” Slowly he turned back toward her, his calm mask tacked in place, although the rigid set of his body suggested he was holding back.
“How about his son? He runs the funeral home now.” She couldn’t back down now. She had to push for the truth. “Did you know him, Cord?”
Cord’s grim look told her everything. “Yeah, he’s just as mean as his old man.”
Eighty-Nine
Dahlonega, Georgia
Derrick found Karl Little’s house on the outskirts of Dahlonega, where his family had lived all their lives.
Although Derrick’s mother had mourned her little girl for two decades, she felt some semblance of peace in the closure that they’d finally found, after so many years. She’d been able to bring her daughter home and give her a proper burial.
Apparently, Mrs. Little had the opposite reaction. The week after Hiram was arrested, Karl’s mother had taken her own life.
The property was overgrown with weeds, and the cornfields that had once probably supplied the family’s income had long since died. To the right of the house sat a silo, and an old barn that tilted to one side as if the ground was going to swallow it.
A mangy dog loped up to Derrick when he got out, and he leaned