The Man from Gossamer Ridge

As the song on the radio changed to something slow and bluesy, Gabe’s cell phone buzzed. He glanced at the display. It was Cissy.

He turned down the radio and answered. “Hey, Cissy. What’s up?”

“I just wanted to talk to you before I go to bed. I know you’re mad at me—”

“I’m not mad.”

“You should be. I should have told you everything up front instead of dragging you here for the ambush.”

“I wouldn’t have come if you hadn’t set up the ambush,” he admitted, spotting the Route 7 Motor Lodge sign glowing faintly orange in the distance.

“I know, but it wasn’t fair of me to do it anyway.”

“Well, no harm done. Maybe I’ll get a little fishing done in the area before I leave tomorrow. That’ll be worth it.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “What say you cut some classes and come fishing with your Uncle Gabe, just like old times?”

Cissy’s laugh was damp with emotion. “Not this time. End of year exams coming, you know.”

“Yeah, you’re your daddy’s daughter,” he teased gently. “Little Miss Responsible.”

My opposite, he added mentally, his smile fading.

He had almost reached the motel. “Well, you get a good night’s sleep and kick butt tomorrow in class.”

Cissy giggled. “Will do.” She hung up.

Gabe disconnected and laid the phone on the seat beside him. He was only a few yards from the motel parking lot entrance, but he found his foot remaining settled over the accelerator. He passed the motel and kept going.

He checked the dashboard clock. Almost eleven. As he was driving in earlier today, he’d noticed a convenience store sitting all by itself on the side of Route 7. It wouldn’t close before eleven, would it? He could grab some snacks to get him through the night, since his barely-touched dinner was a distant memory.

Past the motel, he was solidly into wilderness, hemmed by trees on either side and ahead of him as far as the eye could see. He’d passed few vehicles on the road at this time of night, so the sudden glare of headlights coming around a curve ahead made him wince. The other driver dropped his bright lights. Gabe did the same and they passed on the narrow road.

With an empty road ahead, Gabe put the headlights on bright again, driving some of the shadows to the edges of the road. He drove about a half mile further along the winding rural road before the lights of the Stiller’s Food and Fuel came into view.

There was only one car parked at the convenience store, a small Honda Civic that had seen better years. It was parked around the side. Probably belonged to the clerk inside.

He parked in front and pocketed his keys and cell phone. As he opened the door, a bell jingled, announcing his arrival. But nobody stood at the counter, nor did anyone come running at the sound of the bell. Curious, but not alarmed, Gabe grabbed a shopping basket and headed down the snack aisle to contemplate his choices.

Beef jerky, smoked almonds, packs of string cheese from the refrigerator section—he threw all of these into the blue plastic basket. He debated the barbecue pork rinds for a moment before tossing them into the basket as well. He bypassed beer and soft drinks and went straight to the juices—apple, grape and orange juice went into the basket.

He spotted a fishing magazine on a rack near the front and picked it up. He had this issue at home but hadn’t had a chance to read it. If the night got long, he could fill the time with this, he decided, topping off the basket with the magazine.

The cashier’s desk remained empty as he approached. He looked around, wondering if he’d just missed someone stocking shelves somewhere else in the store. But he saw no one.

“Hello?” His voice seemed to echo in the empty store.

He glanced back at the door. The “Closed” sign faced him, so the “Open” sign was still facing the outside.

“Hello?” he called again.

The silence that answered seemed to swallow him whole.

He set the basket on the counter and leaned over to look behind it. There was no one lying injured or dead behind it. But a strange, sinking sensation in Gabe’s belly made him keep looking.

There was a back room behind the counter; Gabe could see the door to it standing barely ajar down past the cigarette kiosk. The back room was accessible only from behind the counter, and the counter was walled off with a latched door that wouldn’t budge when Gabe tried to open it.

It wasn’t tall enough to pose an obstacle, however. He jumped over the door and landed behind the counter, a few feet from the back room door.

Hair prickled wildly on the back of his neck, but he forced himself forward. “Hello?” he called again, giving the unlatched door a light push. It swung open with a loud, groaning creak.

The light was off in the back room, hiding most of the area from Gabe’s view. He felt along the wall until he located a switch and gave it a flick.

Yellow light from a single bald bulb filled the room with a muddy glow, revealing what the shadows had hidden.

A woman lay on the floor, her legs stretched out and her hands flat on the floor by her side. Her clothes were neatly in place and her eyes were closed. But across her belly, a series of bloody puncture wounds marred the pale gray of her blouse.

For a second, Gabe was no longer in the middle of a convenience store back room. Instead he was in the woods of Chickasaw County, only a few yards from the trucking company where Brenda had worked, staring down at the bloodstained body of his sister-in-law.

He forced himself to touch the store clerk’s throat to check for a pulse, knowing what he’d find as surely as he knew his own name.

This killer wasn’t going to leave behind a live victim. He never had before.

Gabe pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed 911.

Then he pulled out the card still resting in his back pocket. The one Alicia Solano had handed him before she let him out of her apartment.

Alicia answered on the third ring, her voice raspy and alarmed.

“It’s Gabe Cooper,” he said tersely, not bothering with small talk, since he knew she wouldn’t want it. “There’s been another murder.”

“What?” She sounded more awake now, and over the phone, he heard the rustle of fabric, as if she were throwing on a robe. Gabe was tempted to let himself dwell on the picture that rose to mind at that thought, if only to drive out the sight of the dead woman lying at his feet.

He’d give almost anything to get that image out of his head.

“I stopped at a convenience store on Route 7—Stiller’s Food and Fuel,” he said aloud. “Nobody came to ring me up, so I looked for the cashier. I found her in a back room. Dead. It’s the same guy, Alicia.”

“As the other two coed murders?” she asked carefully.

“As all of them,” he answered, his gaze drawn back to the murderer’s handiwork. “All of Victor Logan’s murders. Or the ones he helped facilitate,” he added, giving in to the probability that Alicia’s theory was right. “Alicia, this guy’s still killing. And you’re right. We have to stop him.”

Chapter Four

It was almost two o’clock in the morning before Gabe Cooper knocked on Alicia’s door. She’d spent the hours since his call on her sofa, certain she’d be unable to sleep. But the long day at work and her stressful evening had taken a toll on her stamina. Gabe’s knock woke her from a dead sleep.

She pushed to a sitting position on the sofa where she’d nodded off, taking a second to gain control over her jangling nerves. Tightening her robe over the shorts and tank top she wore as pajamas, she pushed to her feet. After a quick check of the peephole, she unlocked the door and let Gabe inside.

He looked haggard and apologetic. “I should have just gone back to the motel instead. It’s so late—”

She took his arm and led him to the sofa. “No, I want to hear everything you want to tell me. I guess you’ve been with the cops?”