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Authors: Susan Vaughan
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allow it to leave her.
Her daughter was the only vestige of her affair with Roger. Roger had dodged out of town as soon as Rissa told him of her pregnancy. He’d vanished as completely as Emma.
Emma. The best of her. Without scholarship money, Emma could never have afforded even the state university. Rissa’s job as rec director in two nursing homes barely paid the normal bills. But, ambitious as well as academically talented, Emma surpassed all expectations and won every scholarship going. They covered her semesters at this prestigious private college. To pay for a laptop, she worked at the campus bookstore. Her adventurous side went for rock climbing and white-water kayaking. Emma aced all her science courses and planned on graduate school, to study medical research.
Emma, who had given her mother many reasons to be proud and never more than a fleeting reason to worry.
Emma was dead.
Rissa would do anything in her power to find her killer.
***
Justin Wylde gritted his teeth as he took the I-95 Exit 33 into Waterville. Why the hell couldn’t the lieutenant have sent another detective? Why not Bess Peters? She’d done as much on this case as he had. Shit. He knew why. Bess was up to her hairline with the investigation of state-wide business travelers.
He’d liked Rissa Cantrell at first. Annie even dragged him to a cookout at her house. But since her daughter’s death, Rissa’d become so obsessed with finding the killer that the cops tripped over her at every turn. A few months ago, Justin had to persuade the bus station manager in Portland not to file a complaint against her for bugging the employees about loiterers. Finally Rissa ceased harassing them and concentrated on the college.
Months. Too long for memories to be accurate about a nebulous man. Justin was headed to another damned dead end. Another wasted morning chasing down a cold trail. Probably make him late to the meeting he’d set up for Tavani to lay out his profile. Dammit to hell.
The two-lane road curved to the right past a murky-looking pond. He made another right into an even narrower lane that wound past Roberts Hall, which housed the psychology department and the college bookstore. When this case first began he’d bought his niece a stuffed Colby mule there.
Colby was the quintessential New England private college with green quads and a Colonial-style library with a clock tower. Old brick buildings and old money. New high-tech-equipped buildings and new fat endowments. He hated dirtying its lofty atmosphere with the filth and fear of this case.
Finally he rolled into the cul-de-sac and the sprawl of dormitories where the summer employees stayed, among them the potential witnesses.
When he made the last turn, he saw her.
Rissa was watching some kids throw a Frisbee for a bandanna-bedecked border collie. Even from a distance, she looked sad and wistful. Not beautiful, but dramatic and striking, with her dark braid shot with a white streak from the left temple. Since the tragedy, the grief in her eyes had amplified the vivid effect. She looked thinner. Her green sundress was probably supposed to fit her hips, but it hung on her like a sack.
She spotted him when he slammed his car door. “Justin.” It was more a statement of recognition than a greeting. Her gaze flickered over his Bugs tie, but she made no comment.
The cartoon theme was supposed to charm nervous victims or witnesses—like two college coeds—and put bad guys off guard. Besides, he just liked cartoons.
“Rissa.” He slid his sunglasses on top his head. “Seems like you found something at last.”
Her mouth thinned at the sarcasm he couldn’t prevent creeping into his tone. “I may have, at that. How’s Annie doing on her canoe trip?”
Pleasantries first? To bridge the awkwardness and formality. He could do that. He loosened his tie. “I guess she’s fine. She had enough gear for a month. Tried to raise them on the radio, but no luck.”
“Too far
Her daughter was the only vestige of her affair with Roger. Roger had dodged out of town as soon as Rissa told him of her pregnancy. He’d vanished as completely as Emma.
Emma. The best of her. Without scholarship money, Emma could never have afforded even the state university. Rissa’s job as rec director in two nursing homes barely paid the normal bills. But, ambitious as well as academically talented, Emma surpassed all expectations and won every scholarship going. They covered her semesters at this prestigious private college. To pay for a laptop, she worked at the campus bookstore. Her adventurous side went for rock climbing and white-water kayaking. Emma aced all her science courses and planned on graduate school, to study medical research.
Emma, who had given her mother many reasons to be proud and never more than a fleeting reason to worry.
Emma was dead.
Rissa would do anything in her power to find her killer.
***
Justin Wylde gritted his teeth as he took the I-95 Exit 33 into Waterville. Why the hell couldn’t the lieutenant have sent another detective? Why not Bess Peters? She’d done as much on this case as he had. Shit. He knew why. Bess was up to her hairline with the investigation of state-wide business travelers.
He’d liked Rissa Cantrell at first. Annie even dragged him to a cookout at her house. But since her daughter’s death, Rissa’d become so obsessed with finding the killer that the cops tripped over her at every turn. A few months ago, Justin had to persuade the bus station manager in Portland not to file a complaint against her for bugging the employees about loiterers. Finally Rissa ceased harassing them and concentrated on the college.
Months. Too long for memories to be accurate about a nebulous man. Justin was headed to another damned dead end. Another wasted morning chasing down a cold trail. Probably make him late to the meeting he’d set up for Tavani to lay out his profile. Dammit to hell.
The two-lane road curved to the right past a murky-looking pond. He made another right into an even narrower lane that wound past Roberts Hall, which housed the psychology department and the college bookstore. When this case first began he’d bought his niece a stuffed Colby mule there.
Colby was the quintessential New England private college with green quads and a Colonial-style library with a clock tower. Old brick buildings and old money. New high-tech-equipped buildings and new fat endowments. He hated dirtying its lofty atmosphere with the filth and fear of this case.
Finally he rolled into the cul-de-sac and the sprawl of dormitories where the summer employees stayed, among them the potential witnesses.
When he made the last turn, he saw her.
Rissa was watching some kids throw a Frisbee for a bandanna-bedecked border collie. Even from a distance, she looked sad and wistful. Not beautiful, but dramatic and striking, with her dark braid shot with a white streak from the left temple. Since the tragedy, the grief in her eyes had amplified the vivid effect. She looked thinner. Her green sundress was probably supposed to fit her hips, but it hung on her like a sack.
She spotted him when he slammed his car door. “Justin.” It was more a statement of recognition than a greeting. Her gaze flickered over his Bugs tie, but she made no comment.
The cartoon theme was supposed to charm nervous victims or witnesses—like two college coeds—and put bad guys off guard. Besides, he just liked cartoons.
“Rissa.” He slid his sunglasses on top his head. “Seems like you found something at last.”
Her mouth thinned at the sarcasm he couldn’t prevent creeping into his tone. “I may have, at that. How’s Annie doing on her canoe trip?”
Pleasantries first? To bridge the awkwardness and formality. He could do that. He loosened his tie. “I guess she’s fine. She had enough gear for a month. Tried to raise them on the radio, but no luck.”
“Too far
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