Cold Feet

He’d been outside creeping around, trying to figure out what was going on at Madison’s—not the type of errand on which he wanted to carry a cell phone. “Twelve women, if you count Susan, have been snatched from that campus or the surrounding area! What were you thinking, meeting someone so late?”

“Oh, don’t pretend you care about me,” she said, coming right back at him. “If you cared, you never would’ve given up on me.”

“Damn it, Holly, would you quit twisting the knife? I wanted to be there for you. I married you twice, remember? We aren’t a good fit. I don’t know how much more proof you need!” He hadn’t planned on shouting, but she always managed to snap the control that was sufficient for every other situation and relationship.

She stared at him for several seconds, her glare challenging enough to make him believe they were going to end up in another of their famous rows. She was probably going to start in on the miscarriage. She always used that as some sort of trump card, as if he hadn’t felt the loss of their baby just as deeply.

Instead, she covered her eyes and shook her head, obviously backing down. “Look at the picture, okay?”

Caleb felt the anger drain out of him. No one made him as crazy as Holly did. But this wasn’t about their marriages or their divorces. This was about Susan, he reminded himself, gazing down at the picture. “I don’t recognize any of these people,” he said.

“That’s because you’ve probably never seen them before. That’s Jennifer and her two roommates. They’re celebrating because the guy on the left just won an art grant.”

“So what does this have to do with Susan?”

“Look behind them, in the background.”

Caleb held the picture closer to the light, trying to make out the slightly blurred figure beyond the open door of the pizza place. It could have been any woman of Susan’s general size, shape and coloring. But then he saw a slice of leopard print halter beneath a short black jacket and knew it was her.

“She’s wearing just what I thought she was wearing,” he said in amazement.

“Notice anything else?”

Caleb’s blood ran cold. Next to Susan, parked at the curb, was a blue Ford pickup with a white camper shell. He cut his gaze to Holly. “Purcell’s truck?”

“Or one just like it.”

Another connection. At this stage, Caleb saw no benefit in keeping his reason for renting the cottage a secret. With the appearance of Purcell’s truck in this picture with Susan, Holly’s fears were already confirmed. “You wanted to know why I rented this place,” he said.

“You’re finally going to tell me?”

“Madison Lieberman lives next door. She’s my landlady.”

Holly’s brows drew together as if she couldn’t quite identify the name. “Madison Lieberman…”

“Ellis Purcell’s daughter.”

“Of course! I heard about her over and over when you were researching the Sandpoint Strangler. But she’d never talk to you. Has she changed her mind?”

“Not exactly. She doesn’t even know that Caleb Trovato and Thomas L. Wagner are the same man. She was looking for a renter, and I happened to get here first. That’s it.” He tapped the picture against his palm. “Tell me how Jennifer came across one of our flyers.”

“She’s a graduate student at the university and saw it posted at the library.”

Holly had insisted on putting her phone number on the flyer, which made sense because hers was local and not long distance. Also, Caleb knew a woman’s name and number would seem less threatening. But Holly and this Jennifer woman had both been stupid to meet on campus so late at night—not that there was any point in arguing about it now. “What I don’t understand is why she noticed something so obscure in one of her pictures,” he said.

“Susan was involved in an argument that drew everyone’s attention. When Jennifer saw the flyer, she looked through the pictures she’d taken that night and, voil

, there was Susan.”

With a truck like Ellis Purcell’s in the same vicinity. Was it another strange coincidence? Or did the police have a copycat killer on their hands?

“Did Jennifer say what the argument was about?” he asked.

“She wasn’t sure. She thinks Susan bumped someone’s fender while trying to park or something like that. Jennifer and her friends weren’t really aware of anyone else until Susan screamed a curse. Then they all craned their heads to see what was going on. A male voice answered by calling her a stupid bitch. Then Susan got in her car and peeled off.”

“What did the guy who called her a bitch look like?”

“He was beyond their view. After Susan left, Jennifer and her friends went back to their fun. She said if she hadn’t seen the flyer, she probably wouldn’t have thought about the incident again.”

Caleb returned his attention to the picture, trying to figure out what it meant.

Holly watched him closely, fiddling with the cuff of her long-sleeved, black cotton blouse. “This might or might not have any relevance to my sister’s disappearance, though, right?” she said. “I mean, for all we know that truck’s a coincidence and Susan was arguing with Lance, the guy she was dating.”

“At least this picture narrows down the time she could have disappeared,” Caleb said. “Jennifer said this was taken on Tuesday?”

Holly nodded.

“She was reported missing when she didn’t show up for work on Wednesday, which means she disappeared sometime Tuesday night or early Wednesday morning.”

“Do you think it was Lance she was arguing with at the pizza place?” Holly persisted.

“We’ve talked to Lance. The last time he saw Susan was when they spent the night together on Saturday, remember?”

“That’s what he says. Maybe he’s afraid to tell us about the argument for fear it’ll make him a suspect in the case.”

“He’s already a suspect,” Caleb said. “In any homicide, the police look at the husband or boyfriend first, then extended family members and friends. But Gibbons doesn’t believe Lance is our guy.”

Her eyes narrowed. “When did you talk to Gibbons?”

“Last night.”

“You didn’t mention it to me.”

“I haven’t had a chance.”

“We were passing out flyers together all day!”

“It’s a moot point,” he said. “Lance has a good alibi.”

“For when?”

“For Monday and Tuesday nights.” And for Wednesday and Thursday, as well, but Caleb didn’t want to go into that.

“Where was he?” she asked.

Caleb raked his fingers through his hair, wondering how to frame his answer.

“What is it?” she pressed when he didn’t respond right away. “You know something you’re not telling me.”