All the Pretty Faces (8 page)

She’d been cutting up peaches the night the police car had rolled into the drive and destroyed their lives.

He hadn’t been able to eat it since.

He stepped back on the porch for some air, counted to ten, then pivoted and entered again, this time blocking out the odor.

The owner, Cynthia Humphries, greeted him with a smile. She was middle-aged, dressed in a cream-colored sweater and black slacks.

He sensed she was a down-home country girl beneath the surface, but she seemed nervous as she ran around fussing over the table setting as if she was putting on a show for her guests, most of whom were here for auditions.

The production company had housed the technical teams, cameramen, lighting, sound technicians, and other assorted staff at the lodge by the river.

The producer and a few actors reserved the individual cabins, which had been recently renovated.

“Ms. Humphries, do you have a guest named Charity Snow registered here?”

She flattened an errant strand of hair back into her neat bob and glanced at the guest registry. “Yes, she and her sister, Bailey, are staying in room twenty-two.”

A knot pinched his belly. He was about to destroy the sister’s world. “Is Bailey here now?”

A frown pulled her eyebrows together. “I don’t think so. Most of the young women went over first thing this morning for the auditions.” She drummed her nails on the desk. “Come to think of it, she seemed upset. She said her sister didn’t come back last night and wanted to know if I’d seen her.”

He tried to temper his voice so as not to alarm her. “Have you?”

The innkeeper shook her head. “No. It’s been so hectic around here that she could have slipped in and out without me knowing. This place has been crazy. There’s a reporter hanging out interviewing all the young girls.” She leaned over the desk. “He’s been asking them some disturbing questions.”

Cynthia seemed to enjoy the town gossip. “Like what?”

“Like why they want to play a dead girl. Who are they beneath their makeup?” Cynthia lowered her voice, her eyes darting around as if disturbed by the questions. “Did they do any research into the Thorn Ripper or Bride Killer before they came to town?”

Probably not odd questions for a reporter. If this man was cozying up to the girls, he might have information that could help Dane’s case.

He offered the woman a conciliatory smile. “Who is this reporter?”

“His name is Corbin Michaels. He’s not bad looking, although he doesn’t quite make eye contact.” She removed a business card from the drawer and showed it to him. “Then again, he didn’t pay me much attention. He’s interested in these young girls, not a middle-aged woman.”

A smile teased his mouth. Some females were so sensitive about their age. “I’m sure he simply wants to make a name for himself,” Dane said. Which meant he’d probably be questioning Josie, if he hadn’t already interviewed her.

Although surely Josie would have mentioned it if he had.

He handed the card back to her. “I’d like to look in the Snow women’s room, if you don’t mind.”

Her eyes widened. “What for? Is something wrong, Agent Hamrick?”

He gritted his teeth. “Ma’am, I’m not at liberty to say just yet, but I really need to find Bailey.”

“Then go to the community center,” the woman said. “Bailey’s probably there. I heard her say she’d do anything to get a part in this movie.”

Dane’s gut tightened at her statement. Anything?

If the parts had already been decided or two girls were competing for the same role, one of them might have killed Charity to take her spot. But as far as he knew, none of the parts had been cast.

Besides, the MO was too brutal to fit that scenario.

“I’ll go there next, but I still want to look in the girls’ room.”

“All right.” Ms. Humphries grabbed a key from the rack on the wall and slid it toward him. “Just bring it back when you’re done. If I’m not here, hang it on the hook.”

Dane shook his head in disgust. So much for security. Anyone could plainly see the keys and room numbers, snatch a key, and slip into another guest’s room.

“You really should do something to protect your guests’ privacy,” Dane said.

She massaged her temple with two fingers, irritation creating lines around her eyes. “I know, you’re right. Normally we’re not that busy, and it’s not an issue. Now . . .” She gestured around the breakfast dining room, which needed to be cleaned. “I can’t keep up.”

He took the key, then jogged up the steps to the second floor. The house was quiet throughout, confirming that the innkeeper was right, that all of the guests were at the community center.

First he unlocked the door and stepped inside. The inn was decorated with homemade quilts, stenciling, and themed rooms. A wallpaper border of magnolias accented the green color of the walls.

Two suitcases sat open on the luggage stands, clothes and shoes overflowing. Makeup, hair products, and other female paraphernalia littered the bathroom vanity.

No cell phone or laptop in sight, though.

A photo of two young women hugging in front of a “Welcome to Graveyard Falls” sign was tacked onto the bulletin board above one bed, as if the girls had stopped on the way into town to memorialize their trip to stardom. One he recognized as the victim. The other had to be her sister. They looked enough alike to be twins.

The girls were smiling and holding a sign that said, “Hollywood, here we come.”

Dane’s stomach clenched. Unfortunately, this trip had led to the end of the victim’s dreams just as Betsy’s trip to that college had ended hers.

He quickly inventoried the closet and dresser drawers but found no notepads, calendars, or any information about either girl. They’d obviously packed with their goal in mind and only brought along the basics.

Frustrated, he locked the door and descended the steps. The innkeeper and a teenager were clearing the breakfast dishes from the dining table. He hung the key on the board and hurried to his SUV.

On the way to the community center, he phoned the sheriff and asked him to meet him. He needed help canvassing the film crew and actors.

The drive to the community center was short, but it took him ten minutes to park and weave through the throng of people gathered outside.

A young man with dark hair combed stylishly back from his forehead was talking to several of the young women, using a recorder to tape their comments.

That must be the reporter the innkeeper was talking about. Corbin Michaels.

A sob resounded through the air, and a young blonde rushed from person to person, asking questions.

Bailey.

“Have you seen my sister?” She shoved a photograph in front of a group of young ladies. “Do you know where she is?”

Josie walked toward Dane her face strained with worry as if she’d figured out the woman’s identity. He paused for a second, dread balling in his gut.

He was about to make the woman’s worst fear a reality.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Josie ached for Bailey Snow. Bailey’s panic was a palpable force as she searched the crowd for her sister. Her eyes looked puffy and red rimmed from lack of sleep. The poor girl had probably been awake all night worrying about Charity.

“Miss Snow?” Dane said in a low voice as he approached her.

Bailey halted, her face stricken. “Yes?”

Dane flashed his badge and identified himself. “Let’s go somewhere a little quieter so we can talk.”

Bailey’s face drained of color as if she anticipated bad news. Dane gripped her elbow for support, his expression pained. Josie gave him a sympathetic look and walked with them. This girl might need a female shoulder to cry on.

“There’s a lounge down the hall,” Josie said. “It’ll be more private.”

She half expected Dane to balk at her intrusion, but he gave her a grateful look as if he dreaded the upcoming conversation.

Bailey’s eyes crinkled with recognition. “Wait, I know you. You’re the author of the book they’re basing the movie on.”

“Yes, I’m Josie. Please, Bailey, let’s just go with Agent Hamrick. It’s important.”

Dane nodded his thanks, and the two of them silently escorted Bailey into the lounge. A seating area occupied the first room with a separate door leading to the lavatories.

As soon as they made it inside, Bailey spun toward Dane. “What’s wrong? You know where Charity is, don’t you?”

Dane reached out a hand to calm her, but she batted it away. “Just tell me, for God’s sake. Where’s my sister?” Fear made her voice warble. “Is she hurt? In the hospitalic?”

Josie swallowed back tears. The pain was only beginning for Bailey. She would go through the stages of grief, at the same time needing answers and justice.

“I’m sorry, Miss Snow,” Dane said in a low voice, “but your sister is dead.”

A choked sob erupted from somewhere deep inside Bailey that spilled into the room like a thunderous roar. Dane squared his shoulders, obviously steeling himself against the woman’s anguish.

Josie wasn’t so good at containing her emotions. Tears burned her eyes. “I’m sorry, Bailey. So sorry.”

“She can’t be gone,” Bailey cried. “We just got here three days ago. It was her dream to be a star. She thought getting a part in this movie would be her big break.”

Bailey’s body shook on a sob, and Josie grabbed tissues from a box on the vanity and eased them into the girl’s hand.

Dane rested his elbows on his knees and waited, allowing her time to purge her emotions. Josie rubbed Bailey’s back, soothing her with low words.

“Tell me what happened,” Bailey said brokenly.

Dane and Josie exchanged concerned looks, and then Dane cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Bailey, but your sister was murdered.”

For a long, tense moment, silence fell. Bailey simply stared at Dane, then at her hands, then at Josie, a dozen questions flitting in her tear-swollen eyes.

Compassion filled Dane. No matter what platitudes he offered, it wouldn’t assuage her pain. “Is there anyone I can call for you? Family? A friend?”

Bailey shook her head. “Charity and I were pretty much on our own.”

An awkward silence followed. He didn’t want to pry, but he wanted to help this girl. “Her body is at the morgue. If you want to go, we’ll take you to see her. Otherwise, we’ll contact you when she’s ready to be released.”

“What happened?” Bailey asked in a raw whisper. “Who killed her? Did she suffer?”

Dane inhaled deeply. “She was stabbed. We don’t know who did it yet, but I promise to find out.”

The girlish face aged ten years as reality set in. Violent crimes had a way of changing people. Bailey would never again be the naïve, optimistic girl who’d come to Graveyard Falls chasing her dreams.

“If it’s any consolation,” Dane added, “she died quickly.”

Except the monster who’d taken her life had carved those claw marks into her cheek and stripped a piece of bone from her face before he’d killed her.

She’d felt that and the terror that accompanied it.

Bailey pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, swiping at her tears. “I was so afraid when she didn’t come back to the inn. I went out with some of the other girls and got in late myself, so I just assumed she hooked up with someone.”

“This is not your fault,” Josie assured her.

“Yes it is,” Bailey cried. “We should have stayed together.”

Dane squeezed the young woman’s arm in sympathy. He understood how guilt could eat at you. “Don’t blame yourself. Just tell me where Charity went.”

Bailey wiped at her eyes. “Some of the actors threw a big party at those cabins on the river.”

Dane considered that information. A party with alcohol and possibly drugs would be the perfect opportunity for a predator to strike without being noticed. The same thing had happened to Betsy. “That’s a place to start. When was the last time you saw her?”

Her lower lip quivered. “Before she left. She was fussing with her makeup, doing her hair. She was so excited.”

“Do you remember what she was wearing?” Dane asked.

Bailey frowned. “A red sequined top and black leather pants.”

Except she’d been found naked.

Dane withheld that detail. Once he closed in on a suspect, he’d use it if needed during the interrogation.

Dane softened his tone. “Bailey, I know this is difficult, but bear with me. Did Charity have a boyfriend?”

Bailey twisted the tissue in her hands into a knot. “No. Not really. At least not in the last year.”

“What about before? Did she have a bad breakup with someone who might have followed her to town?”

“No.” She pressed her hand to her chest as if it hurt. “Listen, we’re not like these big-time girls who live in LA and have tons of guys hitting on us. We’re from West Tennessee, simple country girls.” She hesitated, her voice cracking. “Charity wanted to fit in.”

He let the silence stand for a second, but she didn’t elaborate. Instead she shifted and looked away as if she was embarrassed. Or was she hiding something? “Is that the reason she had the breast implants?” he asked. “So she could fit in?”

Bailey’s eyes darted to his in surprise. “It’s not like she was vain, but it’s hard out there, competitive.”

“I’m not judging,” he said quickly. “I’m just trying to be thorough. Sometimes the smallest details can help us find the killer.”

“She thought having implants enhanced her looks so she’d land more parts.” She glanced down at her own flat chest. “She tried to talk me into it, but I was too chicken. I hate needles.”

Dane gave her an understanding smile. “So, no boyfriend. Was she going to the party with anyone in particular?”

Bailey nodded. “Yes. Eddie Easton, the photographer who took our headshots to submit for the casting call.”

Dane gestured for her to continue. “Tell me about him.”

“We knew him from before,” Bailey said. “He came to our hometown and set up at the local mall, said he was looking for the next top model. He really liked Charity. He said she was a natural beauty, that she reminded him of his first girlfriend.”

Interesting. “Do you have a photo of Charity that you can text me?”

Bailey’s hand shook as she removed her phone from her pocket and accessed her photographs. Dane scrolled through the shots, then forwarded a couple to his phone and then to the sheriff to use for questioning.

“Did your sister call you the night she was killed, maybe from someone else’s phone?”

“No, I’m sorry.” Bailey sniffled. “I wish she had . . . maybe I could have saved her.”

“This is not your fault,” Josie interjected again. “She wouldn’t want you to blame yourself, Bailey.”

Bailey nodded, although she didn’t look convinced.

Determined to solve this case as quickly as possible, he forced himself to focus.

If Charity didn’t have an ex, then the killer was either someone she’d just met, an acquaintance through the film business . . .

Or a stranger preying on the women who’d come to town.

This photographer definitely had the means to lure women to him. He’d met some of the actors before, so they felt comfortable with him. Then he’d set up a studio right in the middle of the community center to make it easy for his clients. He’d even insinuated himself into the film crew.

That’s where he would start.

Easton had the perfect setup. He’d arranged a studio to meet women under the guise of creating professional headshots for wannabe actresses.

Charity had known Easton and trusted him, so she would have willingly gone with him.

Perhaps he wanted to take their relationship to a different level, and she turned him down, causing him to snap.

Josie’s heart ached for Charity’s sister. She was all alone in the world.

“Bailey, did your sister have a computer?” Dane asked.

Bailey twined her fingers together. “We shared a laptop. It’s in the trunk of my car. I didn’t want to leave it at the inn.”

“I need to look at it,” Dane said.

“What does her computer have to do with anything?” Bailey asked.

“Maybe nothing,” Dane answered. “It’s procedure. Charity might have met or communicated with someone online who might have information about her murder.”

Bailey ran a shaky hand over her skirt. “You want me to get it now?”

“I’ll walk you outside when you’re ready.” Dane hesitated. “What about her cell phone? I assume she had one.”

Bailey looked confused. “Yes, didn’t she have it with her?”

Dane shook his head, but he didn’t elaborate.

Relief flooded Josie. There was no reason to tell Bailey that her sister was found naked by the trash. At least not yet.

Although if there was a trial, that information would be divulged.

“We didn’t find a purse or phone with her,” Dane said. “If you’ll give me her number, I’ll see if we can locate it.”

Josie patted Bailey’s arm to console her. Finding that phone might lead them to the actual murder scene, and hopefully to more clues to the killer.

Bailey jotted down the phone number, and Dane texted it to the lab to see if they could trace it. He also texted Peyton and asked her to run a background check on the photographer Eddie Easton.

Sheriff Kimball strode toward them, and Dane quickly introduced Bailey.

“I’m sorry about your sister, Miss Snow,” the sheriff said sympathetically. “We’ll do everything we can to find her killer.”

“She was all the family I had,” Bailey said, her voice cracking again.

Josie wrapped her arm around Bailey, and Sheriff Kimball shifted on the balls of his feet, looking uncomfortable. “Can we talk for a minute?” Kimball asked Dane.

“Sure.”

“I’ll go with her to retrieve the computer,” Josie offered.

Dane didn’t argue, so Josie guided Bailey outside, although she kept her eyes peeled for trouble.

Killers sometimes insinuated themselves in murder investigations or stuck close by to watch the police chase leads.

Josie’s pulse jumped as she glanced around.

Sometimes they even hung around to watch their victims’ families suffer. Was Charity’s killer here watching Bailey cry over her sister’s loss, taking pleasure in her pain?

Dane’s protective instincts urged him to follow Josie and Bailey outside. But time was of the essence, and he needed to speak to the sheriff.