Читать книгу Once Cold - Блейк Пирс - Страница 11

A little while later, Riley was relaxing as Bill drove the FBI car to the town of Greybull, where Tilda Steen had been killed. Riley felt good to be working on a new case, especially one of her own choosing.

It was a warm, sunny day. She felt as though her troubles and anxieties were fading behind her. Now that she had time to clear her head, Riley was beginning to feel quite differently about Ryan’s departure.

Why would she want him to stay, anyway?

She certainly didn’t want him sleeping over now that he was seeing somebody else.

And it was wrong to let the girls keep living with an illusion that he was truly part of their family.

Things could be worse, she thought.

Ryan might have hung around for a much longer time, only to eventually crush the girls’ hopes and expectations even more hurtfully.

Good riddance, she thought.

Just then, Riley’s phone buzzed. She saw that the call was from Blaine. It took her a second to remember that she’d left a message with him just last night, belatedly accepting his dinner offer. So much had happened this morning, it felt like much more time had passed since she’d made that call.

She answered the phone. Blaine sounded upbeat and cheerful.

“Hi, Riley. I got your message. Yeah, the offer still stands.”

“Thanks,” Riley said. “I’m glad.”

“So when do you and your family want to come over to the restaurant? Tonight, maybe?”

Riley hated to put the whole thing on hold. But what else could she do?

“Blaine, I’m out of town right now, working on a case. I’ll be back later today, but I might have to keep working.”

“How about tomorrow, then?” Blaine asked.

Riley suppressed a sigh. Things had gotten awkward fast. The last thing she wanted was for Blaine to think she was pushing him away again. But with a new case underway, she simply didn’t know when she would be able to accept his invitation.

The awkwardness was compounded by Bill’s glances at her from behind the wheel. It was obvious from his mischievous grin that he’d heard who she was talking to.

Riley felt herself blush.

She said, “Blaine, I’m so sorry. I just don’t know right now when it’ll be possible.”

Blaine didn’t reply. Riley knew that he must feel a bit puzzled. After all, she had sounded so eager in her message. She figured that honesty was the best approach.

“I’m not being coy, Blaine. I’m really not. I promise, when this case gets settled, we’ll come to your restaurant the first chance we get. And we’ll return the invitation. Gabriela will cook up something wonderful for you and Crystal.”

Now she could hear a smile in Blaine’s voice.

“Great. I’ll let you get back to work, then.”

They ended the call. Bill’s grin widened, and Riley’s blush deepened.

“So who was that?” Bill asked.

“Mind your own business,” Riley said with a slight giggle.

Bill let out a peal of laughter.

“No, I don’t think I will, Riley. I think I still qualify as your best friend. I’m supposed to be nosy. That was Blaine, wasn’t it? Your nice handsome neighbor.”

Riley silently nodded.

Bill said, “So are you going to tell me what’s going on, or what? The last I heard, Blaine had moved across town and you were trying to fix things up with Ryan.”

Riley remembered how hotly Bill had protested when she told him that she and Ryan were getting back together.

“Do I need to remind you of everything that guy did to hurt you?” Bill had said. “Because I can remember every detail.”

“Whatever you do, don’t say ‘I told you so.’”

“Why not?” Bill asked.

Riley sighed aloud now.

There’s no use fighting it, she thought.

There was nothing she could do except swallow her pride.

“Because you did. Tell me so. And you were right. Ryan’s the same old insufferable, unreliable Ryan.”

“He bailed on you, huh? I’m sorry to hear that.” He sounded genuinely sympathetic. “It must be tough on the kids.”

Riley couldn’t bring herself to tell him how true that was.

“Anyway,” Bill said, “I’m glad you’re finally giving ‘Mr. Right’ a chance.”

Riley groaned with exasperation. She wanted to throw something at him. Instead, she joined in his laughter.

Her phone buzzed again. She saw that it was a message from Sam Flores.

Riley was glad to have her attention snapped back to the job at hand. Before they’d left Quantico, she and Bill had talked to Sam Flores, the head of the lab team. They asked him to get right to work looking for DNA on the glass and aging the old composite sketch.

Riley checked her tablet computer. Sure enough, Sam had sent her some new sketches of the suspect.

“He sent the new pics,” Riley said.

“How do they look?”

“They’re not much to look at, but they’ll do,” Riley said.

Riley compared the sketches Sam and his team had put together to the old sketch. The original hadn’t been very lifelike. The artist had been too careful. In Riley’s experience, a little imagination and creativity sometimes helped capture a suspect’s personality.

Still, Riley could see that Sam and his tech people had done a good job with what they had to work with. They’d tried to cover a range of possibilities. In one of the sketches, the man looked much as he had in the old sketch, except with more lines and wrinkles and graying hair. In another, he had put on more weight, and his jowls drooped. A third showed him with a beard and mustache.

Riley knew better than to show all three new sketches to potential witnesses at the same time. They’d only get confused. She had to choose just one of them.

She had a hunch that the sketch that most closely resembled the original would be the best one to work with. She didn’t know exactly why. Something about the original’s expression suggested someone who might not deliberately change his appearance over the years. Also, the man seemed to have a distinctly thin body type. Riley guessed that he wouldn’t have put on much weight.

Of course, she could be completely wrong. But she knew that it was best to trust her instincts.

Just then they pulled into the sleepy little town of Greybull. Riley figured that it had a population of less than a thousand people.

“Where’s our first stop?” Bill asked.

“The cemetery,” Riley said.

She gave Bill directions, and they arrived at the cemetery within minutes. Riley brought up a map of the cemetery on her tablet. She and Bill got out of the car and wended their way among the tombstones.

Soon they found the grave that they were looking for. It was marked by a modest, average-sized stone with the inscription …

TILDA ANN STEEN

beloved friend and daughter

1972–1992

The dates startled Riley. Of course she already knew that Tilda had been twenty when she’d been killed. But Riley hadn’t really stopped to think that Tilda would be forty-five if she were still alive. What might her life have been like? Would she have stayed in this little town and raised a family, or would she have gone far away and pursued an altogether different kind of life? Riley had no idea. And the truth was, nobody would ever know.

Riley suddenly felt more determined than ever.

I’ve just got to solve this case.

Riley saw that two sets of flowers decorated the grave. One was a little bucket of daffodils in cheerfully mixed shades of yellow, orange, and white.

“Those are pretty,” Bill said, pointing to the daffodils. “Do you think they’re what we’re looking for?”

Riley didn’t think so. The flowers didn’t look store bought.

She leaned down and opened a little note that was tied to the bucket handle. The message was short, simple, and heartfelt.

Dear Tilda,

Honey, I still miss you. I’ll always miss you. I’ll always love you.

Mother

“They’re from Tilda’s mother,” Riley told Bill. “I’m sure the flowers are from Paula’s own garden.” She could imagine Paula carefully cultivating a bed of bulbs she’d planted in a sunny area for early blooms.

“Does Paula live here in Greybull?” Bill asked.

“No. Tilda’s parents moved away soon after the murder. Paula still lives in Virginia, though, over on the other side of Richmond. Her husband died last year.”

Riley felt a pang of sympathy as she remembered Paula telling her on the telephone …

“What would we become if I forgot Justin or you forgot your mother? I don’t ever want to become that hard.”

Paula had always struck Riley as a brave person. But she knew that Paula was also intensely private.

How lonely she must be! Riley thought.

The other flowers were a more formal bouquet with gladiolas and carnations – an arrangement that might come from a florist. They were held in a plastic cone that had been stuck into the ground.

Obviously thinking about fingerprints, Bill put on plastic gloves and picked up the cone of flowers, then emptied out the water. He put the arrangement in a plastic bag that he’d brought along for this very purpose.

A voice called out. “What are you folks doing there?”