"Does it really matter?" her sister snapped. "I'm safe, I'm happy, and everything is going to be okay. I only called so you wouldn't worry."

Since when does Jayne care if I worry or not?

"Is Brady Shull with you?"

Jayne was silent for a moment. "Yes, he is. It's not what you think."

Anger swept through her. "Let me tell you exactly what I'm thinking. You ran off with a married man from a facility that I was paying a lot of money for and now you're drinking a margarita on a beach. Now tell me again that it's not what I think."

"Yes, that is all true, but-"

"No buts, Jayne. You've screwed me over again. Don't expect me to ever contribute to your recovery again. I know I've said that before, but I've always caved and paid, hoping that this time would be different, but seriously, Jayne, I'm really over it."

"Listen to me!" her twin screeched.

"I'm listening." Ava was a split second away from ending the call.

"Brady understands me."

Dear Lord, give me strength.

"I was frustrated with the people there. It felt like the doctors were always judging me and looking down on me. Whatever I did was never good enough."

Ava recalled Mason's last conversation with Jayne's primary doctor; he hadn't been impressed.

"I made great strides in there, Ava, I really did. But I didn't feel like they could help me anymore. I needed someone who would be more supportive. Brady was struggling with the same problem and his family refused to listen to his concerns. Then he read about a facility in Costa Rica. It sounded so wonderful, Ava. I knew the warmth and sun would help me get stronger."

Ava blinked. "You went to a different treatment center?"

"Yes. The minute I stepped in the door here, I knew it was the right place. It's what I need right now. The people are warm and attentive, and I don't feel like they're just waiting for me to stop talking so they can get to the next patient. Brady feels it, too."

Ava couldn't speak for a long second. She'd gone to another facility? "What kind of place is this, Jayne?"

"It's a recovery center, Ava. It's not a luxury resort, and it's going to be more hard work, but they get great results. I needed a change."

Of course you did. A fresh start. "What's your relationship with Brady? His family is worried sick about him."

"Well . . ."

Some parts of Jayne will never change. "Is he paying for this?"

"Yes, but we're supporting each other. His wife doesn't understand what he's going through. I do. You don't know how important it is to be around people who are experiencing the same struggle as you."

Ava was silent.

"I love him, Ava," Jayne whispered. "I've never felt like this about anyone."

What do I say to that?

"Can you be happy for me?" she asked in a small voice.

"What will you do when he leaves, Jayne? You're ten years older than him! Are you going to fall apart and start abusing again? Are you going to slash your wrists?" She spoke cruelly. Her sister was blindly skipping down a familiar path. "Do you know how many times I've heard this sort of story from you? I'm worried for you. You get caught up in a man and when he leaves you in the dust, I have to pick up the pieces."

"I know how many times I've done that to you, Ava, and I'm sorry for every time. I ask myself every day what I will do if I'm suddenly alone. And do you know what? I'm good with it. I can stand on my own two feet now. I want to get better, Ava. Not for him or even for you, but for me. I don't need someone else to prop me up. I'm choosing to be with Brady and if it ends, it ends. It's not the end of my life."

Shock kept Ava speechless. She'd never heard her sister speak with such self-confidence. She sounded healthy and balanced. She almost believed her . . . almost.

"Don't forget that, Jayne."

"I won't. I'm not going to improve if I'm constantly looking for someone to lean on. That's one thing I did learn in that center. I learned I have to rely on myself for my own happiness, not others."

Ava stared at the phone number on her dash as if it would explain who'd taken over her sister's brain.

"I'm glad you know that now, Jayne," she stammered.

"I need to go. Just understand that I'm in a good spot and I'll make certain Brady reaches out to his family. It's over between him and his wife. He knew that before he went into therapy."

"Be careful, Jayne. That's his problem, not yours."

"I know. He's doing what he needs to do for himself, just as I am."

"Are you still painting?" she asked.

"Oh, yes. I'm going to get set up down here and keep going. I love it."

"Your paintings are beautiful, Jayne. I was so proud of you when I saw your pictures." Thoughts of David and his revelations invaded her brain. I can't tell her about him yet. What if it's not true?

She needed proof before she told Jayne that their father had found them.

"Thank you," Jayne whispered. "I love you, Ava."

"Love you, too."

"I need to go. I'll email you."

The call ended.

What just happened? She'd never heard such logical words from her sister. Is she truly on the right path?

She did know that Jayne's health was out of her hands, and she was at peace with that. She silently wished her sister the best. Brady or no Brady, it sounded as if Jayne might be doing something right for herself for once.

Ava could only hope.

31.

Mason turned into the long gravel driveway. Scott Heuser lived in an old house on a few acres set way back from the narrow country road. Tall firs lined part of the drive, and he pa.s.sed small pastures that needed a horse or two.

I've been here before. He thought hard, trying to remember when he would have visited the home. Maybe it only felt like a place he'd visited before. Or had work brought him here?

He'd visited the immediate area several times. The property he'd driven past before Scott's was the huge farm where he used to bring Jake to pick out his pumpkin. The agri-tainment farm offered a corn maze, hayrides through a haunted forest, pumpkin launchers, a snack bar, and a petting zoo. He'd pa.s.sed the large gravel parking lot packed with minivans and SUVs as families did their Halloween duty. Popular opinion stated that parents were to give kids every possible experience; it was nearly a compet.i.tion. Mason had been sucked into it as he and Robin raised Jake. They had dragged their son to every holiday event. Santa's lap, Easter Bunny, Fourth of July parades, state and county fairs. Picking out a Christmas tree or a pumpkin had to be an adventure.

Mason had found all of it exhausting. He'd eagerly gone the first time or two but had become burned out on the lines and crowds. And cost. Robin loved it. She continued to take Jake on her own as Mason begged off most years, blaming work or lack of energy. He simply didn't want to go.

Did that make me a bad parent?

Ava would never know the highs and lows of raising kids. He felt bad about that, but part of him knew she would miss out on a lot of heartache. It'd been her decision.

Or had it?

He frowned as he parked his car in front of the white farmhouse. He and Ava had briefly touched on the subject of kids a few times. He'd always said he was done. And she'd said-he concentrated to remember her exact words, but he couldn't recall them. He knew she'd always smiled, nodded, and agreed.

Would she want to take a child on the hayride through the haunted woods?

He could visualize it.

The first time he'd taken Jake on the hayride at the adjacent farm had been a disaster. The ride wasn't recommended for kids under the age of ten, but nine-year-old Jake had begged and begged to go. Mason had relented. The night had been clear and cold. He could see Jake's breath as he'd panted with excitement, sitting close to Mason on a bale of hay in the back of the wagon. The high school's drama department had supplied the actors and makeup for the roaming zombie horde, and terrifying dead people crawled out of holes in the graveyard. Random body parts were scattered along the dirt road and hanging from the trees.

Jake had screamed and hidden his eyes in Mason's coat as the first zombie reached through the slats of the wagon to touch his foot. He'd crawled into Mason's lap and refused to look for the rest of the ride. Mason hadn't allowed his son to go back until he was twelve.

He grinned at the memory. Jake had had nightmares for months, and Robin wouldn't let Mason forget he'd overruled her opinion that their son was too young for the terrifying ride. By the time Jake went again, he'd mastered the disdainful junior high att.i.tude and claimed the ride was "for babies." But Mason saw the pulse in his neck speed up at the sight of the new and improved zombie horde that rushed their wagon.

He stepped out and slammed his vehicle door. The house was a traditional-looking white farmhouse and it surprised him that a man as young as Scott lived here. He'd pictured Scott in an urban loft in northwest Portland where he shouldered his bike up and down the stairs for his green commute. This house was nearly twenty miles out of the city. It needed a family with lots of kids who rescued stray cats and retired greyhounds.

The walkway was brick and its pavers looked fresh and clean. He took the half-dozen stairs up to the wide wraparound porch, noticing that the paint looked immaculate though the house had to be nearly a hundred years old. He knocked heavily on the wooden door, hoping that Scott could hear him inside the big home. An antique gla.s.s inset in the door reminded him of looking through a kaleidoscope as a kid. He admired the dozens of intricate gla.s.s pieces, wondering if anyone still spent the time to create that quality of work, and abruptly remembered the last time he'd stood in front of this door.

Ava grabbed a sandwich from the deli tray at the back of the room. The task force room was empty, but she could tell several people had been there. Only ham sandwiches were left and all the bags of chips were gone except for two bags of Sun Chips.

That was fine with her. She opened a bag and shoved a few chips into her sandwich. She was crunching noisily when Zander and Nora walked in. Zander gave no sign that he'd been nearly incapacitated twelve hours before until he looked at her sandwich and glanced away.

Apparently his stomach was not fully recovered.

"How was your conversation with Jeanine Fujioka?" Nora asked.

"Good," said Ava through a mouthful of sandwich. She swallowed. "She has a solid support system in her mother, and I think she'll get through it. Eventually."

"She have any insights?" Zander asked.

"She couldn't think of anyone who was angry enough with Lucien to murder him. She did talk about his time with Cops 4 Kidz and that got me thinking a little bit."

Nora raised her brows. "What'd she tell you?"

"She thinks some of the mothers who enrolled their kids in the program might have ulterior motives."

"Getting close to a cop," suggested Zander, looking resigned.

"Exactly," said Ava. "I can see you're not surprised."

"Not one bit."

"Her husband encountered some crazies?" Nora asked.

"Definitely. One was nuts enough to make him stop mentoring her son and go work in another city."

"Christ. That's extreme," Zander said.

"I plugged her and her son's names into our computers. Neither have records and they both show current residences in Louisiana and it looks like they moved six years ago. I wonder if Lucien was aware of that. If I'd had a stalker I would have kept tabs on where they lived, but Jeanine seemed to be under the impression that Lucien hadn't received any information about the woman since he left the Vancouver department." If Ava had been his wife, she would have occasionally asked if he knew what the woman was up to. But Jeanine had said Lucien liked to avoid work conversation. Perhaps, in her mind, this fell into that category.

Had Lucien and Jeanine a.s.sumed that it could never turn violent? Had the fact that the stalker was female made them a.s.sume she'd go away?

"Have we given enough thought to our female killer theory?" Ava asked, thinking of Sonja Parish. "We have those long hairs and we're pretty sure a bat was used to incapacitate three of them, I think that opens it up to either s.e.x."

"Euzent seemed convinced we're dealing with a man," Nora said slowly. "The brutality of the deaths and the fact that it had to take some muscle to maneuver the bodies of Weldon and Samuelson. Since there was exactly one long hair on the bodies, I felt as if it was deliberately placed there . . . maybe to mislead us."

"Audrey Kerth saw a man leave the Fujioka scene," added Ava.

"We have one eyewitness to that scene. Eyewitnesses make mistakes," Zander said. "Perhaps she didn't see everyone who was present. Someone else could have left in another direction."

"We haven't found a hair in the evidence from that scene, right?" asked Ava. "Maybe he didn't plant it in the confusion. I think we're right about that murder not going as he expected. I do think a woman could still have been involved . . . either alone or as a partner."

"Even Micah brought up that someone with the right equipment could have hung Weldon on their own. That applies to the Samuelson case, too. With enough planning, a woman-"

"Or she had someone with her to help with the heavy lifting," suggested Zander.

"Are you saying there's an angry mom out there that wanted to exact revenge? Revenge for what?" asked Nora.

"A woman scorned," said Ava. "Jeanine Fujioka described Sonja Parish as a seriously unbalanced woman who'd stalked her husband. Who knows what she was capable of? Jeanine said she and her husband wondered if this woman would show up again in their lives."

"Maybe she did," said Zander.

"Well, if she did, she's been behaving herself for the last decade," said Ava. "I have a hard time believing she flew here from Louisiana to get even."

The three of them were silent for a moment, weighing the possibility. Ava tried to picture a woman carrying out the murders. She couldn't see it, but she knew they couldn't rule it out.

"Our smiley face fingerprint showed up on the Fujioka mask," Nora stated. "But your fingerprint lab has burst our bubble of excitement on its origins."

"Explain," said Ava.

"It's fake. Well, at one time it was on a real person. Turns out this print is available for purchase online. You know those latex gloves with fake fingerprints they sell?"

Ava nodded. She'd read about them. Marketed as novelty items to "impress your friends," the ma.s.s-produced gloves were designed to screw with investigations. They weren't illegal to sell and the prints were flagged in databanks around the country. She'd never heard of a case in which they'd shown up. Until now. "Someone sells happy-faced gloves?"