Read Online All the Beautiful Brides by Rita Herron - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Rita Herron
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door.”
“Let me take a look.”
The bartender escorted him to a back room and introduced him to a bouncer, who apparently didn’t remember Gwyneth either.
Minutes later, Cal was scrutinizing the tape. Mostly routine stuff. A couple of guys snuck out to make a drug deal, and the bouncer shoved some guy who’d started a fight out the door.
Then . . . back in the corner, he spotted a figure that looked like Gwyneth. Yes, it was her. A man approached her as she left the restroom, took her arm, and ushered her through the back exit.
She was staggering slightly as if she was intoxicated.
Bastard had probably slipped something in her drink.
But all he could see was the back of the man. He wore all black and had pulled a hoodie up over his head, shielding his face.
Dammit. He’d have the lab analyze the tape to see if they could get a better look at the man.
He told the manager he was taking the tape, then left the bouncer and bartender each his card. “If you remember anything or hear anything about the girl, give me a call.”
They agreed, and he left, anxious to get the tape to the lab.
Felicity drove around for what seemed like hours.
First she visited the grave.
She plowed through the woods to find the spot she’d dug so many years ago, her heart pounding so hard she thought she was going to pass out. The trees seemed thicker than they had back then, and for a moment, panic hit her that she might not find it. Those first few years she’d visited often, but then she’d stopped coming because seeing the small clump of dirt with weeds growing on it only dredged up the pain.
She veered to the left, stopped, and scanned the clearing, then recognized the cluster of rocks near the creek. Shivering with the cold, she moved forward.
She had to make sure the grave was still there.
That no one had found it and dug up the body.
That no one knew her secret.
Only Sheriff Buckley . . .
She halted at the sight of the grave. She’d nestled her baby’s body beneath a tree where the branches curled inward as if they were a mother’s arms. She dropped to her knees and laid one hand on top of the mound, the memory of that night flashing back in nightmarish clarity.
Her premature labor. The pain. How alone she’d felt. How terrified.
And then the baby coming . . . all the blood . . . she wasn’t breathing . . .
A sob choked her as she remembered, and she allowed herself to mourn as the wind cried out its own soulful sound through the trees. But the cold finally got to her, and her tears were freezing on her cheeks, so she buried her face in her scarf and tried to collect herself.
Leaves and snow whirled around her as she finally pushed herself up and ran back to her car. The grave was intact.
No one knew.
But why had that woman Mona Monroe come knocking on her door asking questions today?
She said she was looking for her birth mother.
Yes, Felicity had been pregnant back then. But she hadn’t been the only high schooler who’d gotten knocked up that year.
Only she was the one who’d told Sheriff Buckley that story about Johnny.
Then she’d accepted Sheriff Buckley’s help and done everything he’d said.
If she hadn’t, she might have gone to jail just like Johnny Pike.
She had to warn Sheriff Buckley about Mona Monroe. Maybe he could stop her from making trouble.
Cal dropped the tape off with the deputy and had him courier it over to the lab.
His phone buzzed as he was leaving. Peyton from the lab. “It’s Cal.”
“I looked into those two Facebook friends. One was a man named Aaron Brinkley. He lives in Atlanta but was traveling to Knoxville when he posted that invitation. That was three weeks ago. This past week he’s been in North Carolina on business.”
“So he’s not our unsub.” He paused. “What about the second?”
“That one is more interesting. Whoever it was posted his name as Bill Williams. Profile says he’s thirty, lives in Tennessee, that he’s a craftsman
“Let me take a look.”
The bartender escorted him to a back room and introduced him to a bouncer, who apparently didn’t remember Gwyneth either.
Minutes later, Cal was scrutinizing the tape. Mostly routine stuff. A couple of guys snuck out to make a drug deal, and the bouncer shoved some guy who’d started a fight out the door.
Then . . . back in the corner, he spotted a figure that looked like Gwyneth. Yes, it was her. A man approached her as she left the restroom, took her arm, and ushered her through the back exit.
She was staggering slightly as if she was intoxicated.
Bastard had probably slipped something in her drink.
But all he could see was the back of the man. He wore all black and had pulled a hoodie up over his head, shielding his face.
Dammit. He’d have the lab analyze the tape to see if they could get a better look at the man.
He told the manager he was taking the tape, then left the bouncer and bartender each his card. “If you remember anything or hear anything about the girl, give me a call.”
They agreed, and he left, anxious to get the tape to the lab.
Felicity drove around for what seemed like hours.
First she visited the grave.
She plowed through the woods to find the spot she’d dug so many years ago, her heart pounding so hard she thought she was going to pass out. The trees seemed thicker than they had back then, and for a moment, panic hit her that she might not find it. Those first few years she’d visited often, but then she’d stopped coming because seeing the small clump of dirt with weeds growing on it only dredged up the pain.
She veered to the left, stopped, and scanned the clearing, then recognized the cluster of rocks near the creek. Shivering with the cold, she moved forward.
She had to make sure the grave was still there.
That no one had found it and dug up the body.
That no one knew her secret.
Only Sheriff Buckley . . .
She halted at the sight of the grave. She’d nestled her baby’s body beneath a tree where the branches curled inward as if they were a mother’s arms. She dropped to her knees and laid one hand on top of the mound, the memory of that night flashing back in nightmarish clarity.
Her premature labor. The pain. How alone she’d felt. How terrified.
And then the baby coming . . . all the blood . . . she wasn’t breathing . . .
A sob choked her as she remembered, and she allowed herself to mourn as the wind cried out its own soulful sound through the trees. But the cold finally got to her, and her tears were freezing on her cheeks, so she buried her face in her scarf and tried to collect herself.
Leaves and snow whirled around her as she finally pushed herself up and ran back to her car. The grave was intact.
No one knew.
But why had that woman Mona Monroe come knocking on her door asking questions today?
She said she was looking for her birth mother.
Yes, Felicity had been pregnant back then. But she hadn’t been the only high schooler who’d gotten knocked up that year.
Only she was the one who’d told Sheriff Buckley that story about Johnny.
Then she’d accepted Sheriff Buckley’s help and done everything he’d said.
If she hadn’t, she might have gone to jail just like Johnny Pike.
She had to warn Sheriff Buckley about Mona Monroe. Maybe he could stop her from making trouble.
Cal dropped the tape off with the deputy and had him courier it over to the lab.
His phone buzzed as he was leaving. Peyton from the lab. “It’s Cal.”
“I looked into those two Facebook friends. One was a man named Aaron Brinkley. He lives in Atlanta but was traveling to Knoxville when he posted that invitation. That was three weeks ago. This past week he’s been in North Carolina on business.”
“So he’s not our unsub.” He paused. “What about the second?”
“That one is more interesting. Whoever it was posted his name as Bill Williams. Profile says he’s thirty, lives in Tennessee, that he’s a craftsman
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