The Perfect Mistress (A Jessie Hunt Psychological Suspense Thriller—Book Fifteen) Page 8

  She knew Ryan couldn’t answer that question yet any more than she could. But it seemed hard to buy that in a town as small as Wildpines that two women with such similar traits were killed within forty-eight hours of each other.

  Jessie stood up and began pacing, officially to stretch but more to clear her head. Even though she’d never known either of these women, she felt for them. Both Clarice and Sarah looked to be in great places in their lives, at least professionally. Clarice was a community leader. Sarah was starting an exciting new endeavor. They seemed set.

  On good days, Jessie imagined herself potentially being as settled as these two appeared to be. She already had a good job, a loving boyfriend, and a challenging but interesting sister that she hadn’t even known existed just over a year ago. When she wasn’t being stalked by elderly serial killers, her life wasn’t half bad. What was possible five years from now? Maybe great things; or maybe she’d end up stabbed to death, lying alone in a pile of snow, waiting for a snowplow driver to come by and realize she wasn’t a deer hit by a car.

  Before she could go too far down that rabbit hole, her phone, resting on the end table, buzzed. Ryan’s did the same a half-second later. He looked down.

  “It’s from Garrett. Dwayne Ripley just arrived in town. He’s waiting for us at the station.”

  “Good,” Jessie said, pushing thoughts of her own future out of her head for now. “It’s time we get some answers.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Ryan thought he was pretty smooth.

  They were just leaving the cabin when he pretended like he’d forgotten something, gave Jessie the car keys, and told her he’d be right out.

  Technically he was being honest, though he couldn’t reveal what he’d forgotten: an engagement ring. He’d bought the ring the previous week, on the same day that he and Hannah had almost been poisoned by the Night Hunter. In fact, he’d concealed it in the very panic room where they’d gone to hide from the killer’s paralyzing syringes.

  He’d subsequently taken the ring to the safe house in Sherman Oaks and now brought it here. But since the cabin was small and he didn’t trust Hannah not to snoop, he’d decided to keep it on him. So he rushed back to their bedroom, removed the black engagement ring box from the rolled up pair of socks in the cabinet drawer where he’d put it earlier, and then headed back out.

  He kept it in his front pocket, where it burned an imaginary hole in his pants during the entire three-minute drive to the station. The only distractions from its weight against his leg were the questions that consumed him.

  Was he really going to propose to Jessie soon? Of course, he was. Otherwise why bring the ring? Why buy it? So if it was inevitable, when was the right time? Logic suggested maybe waiting until after they were free of the Night Hunter threat.

  On the other hand, asking her to marry him might be a way for them to take back control of their lives, a way to prove that they could find happiness in the middle of chaos and violence. Of course, that led to the question he couldn’t answer: when he asked her, what would she say?

  Even beyond that, there was one final question, which loomed larger than all the others. Did he even deserve her? With his still-withered body, his post-trauma mood swings, and most of all, his shameful failure to save Alan Trembley from the Night Hunter, had he lost the right to be with her? He felt himself slipping into a dark place and shook his head violently to break the spell. That’s all the worrying you have time for right now.

  He pulled into one of the two parking spaces in front of the station. Glancing over at Jessie, he was briefly worried that she’d read his thoughts. But then he saw that she was lost in her own.

  “You ready for this?” he asked.

  “As ready as I can be.”

  They were just getting out of the car when his phone buzzed. He read the message, then shared it with her.

  “I reached out to Jamil earlier back at the cabin while you were talking to Hannah,” he said. “I wanted to get confirmation that Dwayne Ripley was in L.A. last night.”

  “What did he find?” Jessie asked as they walked up the stairs to the station entrance. Even though he felt much more confident walking these days, he took it easy on the icy steps.

  “According to Ripley’s phone and vehicle GPS systems, he was in Silverlake from 7:15 last night until 7:30 this morning. Then he went to the Perris coroner’s office and here after that—nothing overtly suspicious.”

  “Okay, then I guess we can rule him out as a suspect, at least directly,” she replied. “It doesn’t mean he didn’t pay someone, although then we’re really getting out there. Would this guy hire someone to kill his wife and have another woman killed to throw off suspicion? It’s a stretch.”

  “We’ve seen crazier,” Ryan countered.

  “That’s true,” Jessie conceded. “Still, let’s give him the benefit of the doubt and start easy. We can always go harder if need be.”

  Ryan nodded in agreement and started to hold the door open for her before quickly closing it again.

  “You should keep your beanie on,” he reminded her as she was about to pull it off, “Maybe your coat too. Don’t forget—this guy is from L.A. It’s possible he’s seen you on TV. Anything you can do to prevent him from recognizing you is worth it.”

  He could tell that she wasn’t excited by the prospect of keeping everything on in the warm station but she didn’t fight him on it. Once inside, they found that the station was marginally quieter than earlier in the afternoon. Rusty the drunk had been released and Undersheriff Richard McClane was gone too. So was the other deputy who’d been here before, Pete Traven.

  That left only the receptionist, Deputy Garrett Hicks, and the man he was quietly talking to at a table near the back. Ryan assumed it was Dwayne Ripley.

  “May I help you?” the sixty-something woman with coke bottle glasses asked.

  Ryan was a little surprised but made no mention that he and Jessie had been here earlier that afternoon, accompanied by the county undersheriff. She was either unimpressed or very forgetful. Before he could answer, Garrett called out.

  “They’re with me, Bitsy,” he said. “Remember, they’re the city detectives helping out on the recent cases.”

  Bitsy gave no indication that she remembered but motioned for them to pass behind the Formica barrier. Garrett stood up to greet them. The man he assumed was Ripley stood as well and turned around.

  He had on slacks, a dress shirt, and a blazer. Ryan noticed that he was wearing dress shoes that were completely inappropriate for the snowy surroundings. Footwear choices likely hadn’t been a priority for him today. In his late thirties, with thick brown hair, tan skin and a trim physique, he would have been considered good-looking under normal circumstances. But in his current state—unshaven, with red, puffy eyes—he looked rough, more like a guy coming down from a bender.

  “Mr. Ripley,” Garrett said by way of introduction, “this is Jennifer Barnes and Randy Hosea. They’re detectives with LAPD who agreed to help us out. Detectives, this is Dwayne Ripley. He’s just come in from Perris to answer your questions.”

  “We appreciate that, sir,” Ryan said, walking over. “And we both want to offer you our deepest condolences. We can only imagine how difficult it is to get this horrible news and then have to spend your day driving all over Southern California to confirm it.”

  “Thank you,” Ripley said. His voice was hoarse, probably from a combination of yelling and crying.

  “Why don’t you sit back down,” Jessie suggested. “We’ll pull up some chairs.”

  Once they were all situated, Ryan decided to ease in as he and Jessie had discussed.

  “Why don’t you tell us a little about Sarah,” he said gently. “What made her decide to open up a second location of her store here?”

  It was a question intended to get Ripley talking without putting too much pressure on him right away. Ryan liked to think of it as a crime-adjacent question. Nonetheless, the man sighed heavily, as if e
ven that straightforward inquiry might be too much for him. Finally he gathered himself.

  “Mostly I think it was just an excuse to spend more time in Wildpines. She just loved it up here. She’d take every opportunity to visit and the idea that she could come up with a legitimate professional reason to do so really appealed to her.”

  “You didn’t feel as strongly about the town though, right?” Jessie asked, keeping any accusation out of her voice.

  “I like it,” Ripley said, looking at Garrett as he answered, as if he felt an obligation to make his feelings clear to a designated local. “We bought the cabin here, so I’m obviously fond of the place. But my business doesn’t allow for me to get away as much. I work for a brokerage firm and am bound by the timing of the markets. Sarah didn’t have that problem. Her shop is a finely tuned machine. Usually she’d be there for most of the day on Monday through Thursday. But on a lot of Fridays she might only stop by for a few hours, sometimes not even that, all so she could get a head start on coming up here.”

  “That sounds nice,” Ryan said. “I have to admit I’m jealous just hearing about it. Did you ever feel that way?”

  “Jealous?” Ripley asked. “Not really. Like I said, I like it here but part of that was because it made her so joyful. Her passion was contagious. Even when she came up here alone, the good vibes could last for days after she got back. She always seemed so happy after a visit, giddy even.”

  He stopped for a moment to blow his nose, giving Ryan a chance to make eye contact with Jessie. She glanced back knowingly. He knew immediately that they had the same thought. What could be going on up here that had Sarah Ripley giddy with enthusiasm for days afterward without her husband around? It could be a passion for long walks in the woods. But more likely it was an affair, or at least the potential of one. Neither of them lingered on the idea.

  “Did she ever talk about moving to Wildpines?’ Ryan asked.

  “Not for good, but she did suggest that she split her time up here for a few months when the store opened. She’d be starting with fresh staff and want to be around more to supervise. She talked about being in L.A. Monday through Wednesday and here Thursday through Sunday until the place got going. She was going to just open from Friday until Sunday at first.”

  “You were cool with that plan?” Ryan asked.

  “Like I said, this place made her happy. I didn’t want to get in the way of that.”

  “Did Sarah ever mention having a falling out with anyone up here?” Jessie asked, making a sharp turn. “Or even just someone who made her uncomfortable?”

  Ripley was quiet for moment, searching his memory.

  “Not that I recall,” he finally said. “Sarah got along with just about everybody. That’s one of the reasons her store did so well. It’s not like it sold anything all that different from other gift places. Customers just liked being around her. I can’t remember her having a heated argument with anyone.”

  “Not even you?” Ryan pressed slightly, having to at least test out the hitman angle. “I saw that you were married five years last fall. There had to be a few hiccups.”

  Ripley shrugged.

  “Sure, we disagreed like any couple. But heated stuff? No. We’re both level-headed people. Yelling isn’t our thing. In fact, I think I’ve raised my voice more today when trying to get answers than I have at any time in the last half-decade.”

  “No one resented her starting a new business up here?” Jessie asked, wisely moving away from the couple issues. They didn’t want the guy to shut down or get defensive. “Nobody viewed her as competition, as a threat?”

  “I’m sure some folks did,” Ripley answered. “But she never mentioned it. In fact, she was invited to all kinds of stuff. I know she’d been encouraged to attend a ‘women in business’ seminar next month. She told me she’d joined some local business group too, with an online forum to exchange ideas.”

  “The WBA?” Jessie asked.

  “That’s it,” he said.

  “We’ll need her login info for their chat room,” Jessie told him. “It’s possible someone made a threat against her on there and she didn’t want to worry you with it.”

  “Sure,” he said, seeming to consider the idea for the first time. “She kept all her sign-on information in her phone, which they’re holding as evidence in Riverside. I can give you the password.”

  “That’d be great,” Jessie said. “And we’d appreciate it if you could send us a couple of good, close-up photos of Sarah as well.”

  “Okay. When do I go up to the cabin?” he asked, writing down her code on a slip of paper. “Deputy Hicks said he wanted me to take a look around to see if anything was missing, that it might help with the investigation.”

  Ryan looked over at Jessie to see if she had any opposition. She indicated that she didn’t.

  “You can go do that now,” he said. “Deputy Garrett can accompany you and let us know if there’s anything amiss.”

  They all stood up and shook hands. Ryan and Jessie offered a second round of condolences and watched the men leave. Ryan wanted to get her thoughts on the idea of a potential affair but he could tell that she didn’t want to broach the subject in front of Bitsy the receptionist.

  “Want to get some air?’ he asked casually.

  “Yeah, it’s warm in here,” Jessie said dramatically.

  Once outside, they stood on the porch, watching Garrett’s vehicle drive up the hill toward the Ripley cabin. Once it was out of sight, she ripped off the beanie in relief. The hair on her forehead was sticky with sweat.

  “Sounds like Sarah was really enjoying her alone time up here,” he said leadingly.

  “Assuming she was alone,” Jessie added. “I think that’s an avenue we need to explore a little more. Dwayne may have liked how ‘level-headed’ their lives were. But maybe Sarah had started to find it a little boring. I’d be curious to know if she was home all last night or if she spent time anywhere else.”

  “It’s funny that you say that,” Ryan replied. “I just got an alert from Rich McClane saying they have the location data from Sarah’s phone.”

  “Why didn’t I get that alert?” she demanded, a second before her phone buzzed too. “Oh, never mind.”

  Ryan studied the information.

  “It looks like she spent a few hours at a bar called Wild Things, stayed until 9:30. It’s just down the road if we want to stop by.”

  “Around here, everything’s just down the road,” Jessie pointed out. “We also need to talk to Martin Kimble. I want to find out if he’s aware of any connections between his wife and Sarah that we might be missing.”

  “Okay,” Ryan replied. “Where do you want to go first?”

  He watched his girlfriend ponder the question. He loved to watch her ponder. Her forehead got a tiny wrinkle just above her nose when she concentrated extra hard.

  “Let’s start at the bar,” she suggested. “It’s late afternoon and I’d rather talk to the folks there before it gets too rowdy. Let’s meet the drunks first. We can grill the grieving widower after that.”

  “You are such a delicate flower,” he teased.

  “That’s why you love me,” she replied, sticking out her tongue.

  He pretended to act casual, but hearing the word “love” out loud suddenly reminded him of the ring in his pocket, and on cue, the invisible burning sensation returned.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  It was hard to make believe everything was normal.

  Walking through the aisles of Brightside Market, it was a challenge not to imagine that everyone knew. How could they not realize they that they were standing next to someone who had snuffed out two lives this week? How could they not know that the hand beside them reaching for milk had only hours earlier plunged a knife deep into the chest of a vital young woman? It seemed absurd. And yet no one batted an eye or gave a sideways glance.

  The same thing happened at the bank, and later at the furniture repair shop. People just talked casuall
y, like you hadn’t had to shower late last night to wash dried blood off your hands. No one suspected a person so normal-seeming could be capable of such brutality. Having the secret was almost as delicious as doing the deed.

  Soon, there would be another deed to do. The excitement was already building somewhere deep in the chest. The heart was beating faster. The breath was quicker and shallower. The memory of the knife puncturing and then shredding flesh returned in an orgasmic rush. It was almost too much to bear.

  Luckily there were only a few hours left to wait. The next perpetrator had been selected. Actually, that wasn’t quite accurate. This one, like the others, hadn’t been selected—rather, she had presented herself for reprisal. Just like the others, she deserved what was coming to her. Just like the others, she had brought it on herself.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Jessie felt like kicking herself. They had waited too long.

  By the time Ryan pulled into the Wild Things parking lot at 4:34, the sky was darkening fast and the lot was already filling up.

  “Ugh,” Jessie said as they got out.

  “What’s wrong?” Ryan asked as they got out of the car.

  “A crowded bar is going to make things infinitely more difficult,” she replied. “Not only will we have to navigate rowdier folks, it’s going to make it that much harder to keep a lid on Sarah’s murder.”

  “That’s true,” he acknowledged, “But to be honest, I’m surprised it’s stayed quiet this long. In a town this small, information like that spreads fast. We’re lucky Garrett got that snowplow driver to keep quiet.”

  As they approached the bar entrance, she noticed that he didn’t take his cane and knew it wasn’t only because he felt he didn’t really need it anymore. He also didn’t want to look vulnerable in what could be a rough place. She didn’t comment on it.

  It took a second to adjust to the darkness. When she could see clearly, she found that the place was a real dive. There was sawdust on the floor, much of it dried after mixing with any number of liquids. The lamps above the pool tables in the backroom were dim and one of them flickered, adding an extra level of difficulty for the players. Most of the cocktail tables looked rickety and the bar itself appeared to be comprised of rotting wood.