Mavis Gette's dead.

Sonja Hatch.e.l.l and Roxie Olmstead are missing.

You can't tie them all together by the evidence.

And yet...as he stared at the computer images of the three women, he felt that they were connected. He just hadn't figured out how yet.

"Hey!" BJ said, poking her head into his office. He'd been so engrossed in his own thoughts that he hadn't heard her approach. "How about I buy you lunch?"

"What's the special occasion?"

"We both need a break."

"Don't we always?" he asked, but was already reaching for his jacket. "Don't we always."

"Listen, Carter, don't you know the old adage about looking a gift horse in the mouth? So shut up and keep up, unless you want to buy your own d.a.m.ned burger."

"And I thought you were springing for steak."

"In your dreams," she said as they headed down the stairs and outside. Despite the cold weather, they walked the few blocks to the Canyon Cafe and grabbed a booth. Though it was late, the little restaurant was crowded, filled with patrons who had driven into town after over a week of cabin fever. The kids were back in school, all the businesses open, the Interstate no longer closed. Yeah, life was back to normal, except that he had one dead body, two missing women, and a stalker to deal with along with the regular crimes.

The strains of country music could barely be heard over the buzz of conversation, rattle of silverware, and crackle of the fryer. Two waitresses were hopping, pouring coffee and water, while a short-order cook placed orders on the counter and the smells of frying onions and sizzling hamburgers competed with the aroma of freshly baked pies.

BJ had snagged a recently vacated booth and they waited while a single busboy cleared the table and pocketed the two-dollar tip left among straw wrappers, napkins, and dirty dishes. Once the Formica had been swabbed clean, a waitress who'd worked at the cafe for as long as Carter could remember poured coffee and took their orders.

"Anything new with the bust of the kids up at Catwalk Point?" BJ asked.

"So that's what this is all about-you want the inside scoop. From the OSP."

Her eyes narrowed at him over the rim of her coffee cup. "Right-consider the fish and chips a bribe. I'm a high roller. But yeah, since you and Sparks are tight, I thought you might know more."

Carter laughed. "The girls are safe. No charges, but because of Megan, you know that much already."

"What about the others?"

"The boys will probably have to do some community service for providing alcohol, even though they aren't twenty-one themselves. Actually, they're getting off pretty easy."

"Too easy," she said. "But the good news is that Megan finally saw the light and broke up with Ian Swaggert."

"Will it last?"

"Too early to call. But I'm hoping." She lifted crossed fingers for Carter to see. "Ever since the 'incident,' and that's what we call it, mind you, 'the incident,' Megan's been toeing the line around the house. Jim doesn't go ballistic like I do, just kind of mopes and looks at Megan with big, sad, disappointed eyes. You know the routine-his expression says all too clearly, 'How could you do this to me?' Like it's all about him. Hey, I'm not complaining. It seems to be effective, at least for now. We'll see, though, if that little worm Swaggert leaves Megan alone. He'd better, or he'll have to answer to me." She took a long swallow of her coffee. "See how you're missing out, not having kids?"

The waitress deposited their lunch, a burger and fries for BJ, halibut and chips for Carter. BJ dug in as if she hadn't eaten in a week. "I'm blowing my diet today," she admitted. "It's h.e.l.l to try and lose weight during this weather. I mean, who wants a spinach salad with no dressing when it's ten below?" She bit into her burger with gusto.

They talked about nothing important for a while, waved to a few local patrons they knew, and were nearly finished eating when BJ said, "I've finally got a report for you about who's been renting or buying Jenna Hughes's movies. Believe me, the list is long and infamous." She pushed her basket aside. "Your name came up a few times." He didn't comment. "But then, you're in bad company." She pulled her wallet out of her purse and slapped some bills onto the table. "I checked with the video stores in town, in the surrounding areas, online, and even the library's records. A lot of people have been watching Jenna Hughes movies around here, let me tell you. At least since she moved up here, and I'm not even talking about those people who have personal collections that they taped from their televisions."

They walked outside and BJ huddled deeper into her coat. "So, aside from mine, any names pop out at you?"

"Mmm. Her biggest fan seems to be Scott Dalinsky."

"Rinda's kid?"

BJ nodded. "He's got every movie she ever made-ordered them all online and even bought some movie paraphernalia through e-Bay."

"You checked his credit card records?"

Her grin was wicked. "I've got my sources."

"Who else?"

"Just about everybody in town," she admitted, stopping on the curb and waiting for a truck to pa.s.s before she stepped into the crosswalk. The snow on the road was patchy, sc.r.a.ped by plows and melted by the warmth of vehicle engines as they pa.s.sed. "And out of town as well. There's a guy in Hood River and a woman in Gresham who are uber-fans, it seems. Around here, Wes Allen has a collection, as does Blanche Johnson and Asa McReedy, the guy she bought her place from. Then there's a lot of kids in the high school including Josh Sykes...well, you'll see the entire printout, but believe me, it only expands our suspect list rather than shrinks it." They were walking up the courthouse steps to the warmth inside. They pa.s.sed the security checkpoint and the records room before taking the stairs to the second floor. "Give me a minute," BJ said, and showed up in Carter's office five minutes later with not one stack of printouts, but three. The first list, of people who had rented or bought videos, was over thirty pages.

"This many?"

"That's right," she said. "And we're just getting started. These are the people who've rented or bought a Jenna Hughes movie in the last two years and live within a hundred miles of Falls Crossing." She sent Carter a sly look. "I was afraid the department might run out of paper if I expanded the search, but we can always change the perimeters, go back more years, or increase the physical area. I went a hundred miles because that will include the Portland metro area and the zip code for the postal station where the letter was postmarked. It allows an extra twenty-five miles around that zip code, so if our creep decided to be clever and drove across town, or from the suburbs, we've covered his a.s.s. If he drove farther, then we need to expand the perimeters, but this seemed right to me, a.s.suming that the guy lives within driving distance of Jenna Hughes's place. We know that either he or an accomplice left the note in her bedroom." She dropped the second list onto the first. Again, the printout was a thick sheaf of typewritten papers.

"Popular lady," he said, reaching for his pencil and wiggling it between his fingers as he skimmed the list of people who had rented or bought movies.

"Too popular, it seems."

"Mmm." The names were arranged in descending order. Those who'd purchased/rented the most copies of her movies at the top of the first page, the least on the last page. "Too popular. And too s.e.xy. Though you probably haven't noticed."

He shot her a look, then skimmed the list of names. Scott Dalinsky was at the top of the list. "Have you cross-referenced this with the people she knows?"

"Mmm. Last page."

He flipped through the pages, and there, big as life on the final sheet, were at least thirty names, including his own. Scott Dalinsky, Harrison Brennan, Wes Allen, Travis Settler, Asa McReedy, Yolanda Fisher, Lou Mueller, Hans Dvorak, Rinda Dalinsky, Estella Trevino, Seth Whitaker, Blanche Johnson, Jim Stevens. "Your husband?"

"Hey, Jim's a red-blooded American male. Not immune. How about this one? Derwin Swaggert, the preacher. Ian's dad. You think he rented Resurrection because of its Christian overtones, maybe used it for reference in his Sunday sermon?"

Carter snorted.

"Or Beneath the Shadows-probably has something to do with the Twenty-third Psalm. You know, there's that pa.s.sage about walking through the shadow of death."

"You really have a thing against the Swaggerts," Carter observed.

"Just their kid. And only when he messes with mine." She motioned to the list. "I'll leave this with you, and oh...check this out, uh, page seven, I think..." Quickly, she flipped the pages over and ran a finger down the list. "Here ya go. Roxie Olmstead rented Innocence Lost less than a week before she disappeared. Chew on that awhile."

"I will," he said, then eyed the other computer printouts she hadn't yet handed him. "More information, I presume."

"Ah, Sherlock, there's a reason you've been elected sheriff. It must be your keen detective skills."

"Oh, h.e.l.l. All the while I was sure it was good-ol'-boy charm."

"Oh, yeah, that's it," she said, sarcasm dripping from every word. She slapped the second set of sheets onto his desk. "I checked with the Webmaster for Jenna Hughes's official site, found out who sends her the most e-mail, who logs in the most frequently. I've got a huge computer file, but only printed out the names of fans, again, who live within a fifty-mile radius. I can expand that as well."

He eyed the reports. "Efficient, aren't you?"

"I like to think so." She leaned a hip on the edge of his desk. "The next step I took was to look over the fan Web sites dedicated to Jenna Hughes-not only the official fan site, but all those other nonsanctioned 'unofficial' fan Web sites. What a trip. She garners more than her fair share of obsessive types, let me tell you."

Carter's jaw hardened and he didn't like the turn of his thoughts-that any sicko with a computer could have a little piece of Jenna Hughes.

Like you do? his mind taunted, and he shushed the guilty questions, didn't want to go there.

BJ was still explaining. "Some of those sites are filled with all kinds of c.r.a.p, including nude photos that could be fake, s.e.xual references, and all sorts of discussions about how s.e.xy she is.

"If this is the kind of thing that happens when you're gorgeous, rich, and famous, count me out. Browsing through some of those Web sites, I thought I should be wearing hospital gloves because my keyboard was probably contaminated. And all the while that I searched, I was getting pop-up after pop-up screen, in continual loops. d.a.m.ned irritating. I think I should be getting not only overtime, but hazardous-duty pay as well."

"Put in for it. See what the powers that be say," Carter suggested without much humor.

"I'll tell them it was your idea," BJ teased as she turned back to the printouts.

Carter had realized, of course, about the dark side of celebrity, the lack of privacy, the photo-hungry paparazzi, the obsessed fans, the tabloid exploitation, but he'd always figured it just came with the territory, the quintessential price of fame. But now, as he considered the fear that had become a part of Jenna Hughes's life, the ugliness seemed more real, the danger more certain. He felt an inner rage, a quiet determination to find the creep who was terrorizing her and put him away.

BJ was still talking about what she'd uncovered on the Internet. "It was more difficult to find someone who took responsibility for the more bizarre sites, of course, but I was able to go through to the chat room logs and the bulletin boards and figure out those who seemed most obsessed with Jenna Hughes and her movies. The problem is, those people aren't required to use their real names-they use all sorts of strange aliases, so I'm still trying to find out who some of them are."

"But you can?"

BJ winked. "I think so."

"Legally?"

She stared him straight in the eye. "Absolutely."

"So that if we find this son of a b.i.t.c.h, we can nail his a.s.s. He won't be able to pay for some high-priced, sleazy defense attorney to whine about his client's rights being abused by the police and beat the rap."

She hesitated just a beat. "No."

"You're sure?"

"Don't worry, Carter. Everything I find will hold up in court."

"It had better." He ruffled the edge of the computer printouts with his thumb. "Tell me you did some kind of sort/ merge thing and came up with a list of names you know who visited her Web site and rented or bought the most movies."

"And who lives in the area." Smiling smugly, she slid a slimmer printout across his desk. "Here ya go, boss," she said. "All the unusual suspects."

CHAPTER 31.

"It's like a prison at home," Ca.s.sie complained as Josh picked her up after global studies. She was taking a chance ditching study hall, but didn't care. She was already hopelessly behind in some of her cla.s.ses. He opened the door to his truck and waited as she climbed into the elevated cab. Once he was inside, she lit a cigarette and said, "We've got this bodyguard who's like a drill sergeant or a spy or something. He wants to know everything I do."

"Everything?" Josh asked, his eyebrows rising.

"And more." She didn't take the bait and exhaled a stream of white smoke. "It bugs me."

"How long is he going to be there?"

"Beats me. Probably until they find out who's sending Mom some weird letters."

"Who do you think it is?" he asked as he pulled out of the high school's parking lot, hit the gas, and sent the back of his truck sliding crazily on the ice.

"Hey!" she cried, just as his big tires grabbed the asphalt. "Knock it off, okay? I'm not in the mood."

But Josh only gave her a smug glance as he slowed for the cross street.

He acts like he just won the Indy 500, she thought in a blinding flash of understanding. What's wrong with him? With me? Why the h.e.l.l am I with this big bohunk?

"So who's sending the letters?" he repeated, sounding like a broken record.

"Geez, I don't know." She let out a disgusted puff of air. "Maybe that same kook who did last time. When we were still in L.A. Or maybe a new creep. I just wish he'd go away." She glanced across the seat to Josh, watching his reaction. "The police are involved, too. The sheriff's trying to figure out who sent the letters."

"That dirtbag couldn't find his own a.s.s with a magnifying gla.s.s."

"Jesus, do you always have to be so gross?" she asked.

"It's true," he said, pouting. "He's always lookin' to bust my b.a.l.l.s."

"Well, now he's after whoever is sending Mom those notes. My guess is he's going to try and find out who it is that's got such a weird fascination with her."

"That could be half the men in the county."

"Yeah, I know." Including the sheriff himself, Ca.s.sie thought. Sheriff Carter, now there was an interesting guy. Quiet. Smart. Good-looking...the same with the new bodyguard, even though he was really old-in his thirties or something. She liked his short blond hair, intense blue eyes, and straight nose that matched perfect teeth. He was fit, muscular, and, even though he didn't smile a lot, when he did, he looked like a poster boy for one of those "Have-it-all-with-the-Marines" type of ads on TV. On top of it all, he was whip-smart. She recognized that straight up. It was true that Jake Turnquist made life a prison, but Ca.s.sie could think of worse jailors. She cracked the window, letting in a little cold air so that the smoke was sucked out of the cab as Josh, one eye on the road, slipped in a CD and pumped the ba.s.s up to the max. His sub-woofer was pounding, his fingers tapping out rhythm on the wheel, his head bobbing to the loud music.

"So is your mom still p.i.s.sed at me?"

"Majorly p.i.s.sed."

His face knotted up. "s.h.i.t."

"You care?"

"Sure. If she's mad at me, it'll be tough to get to see you." He slid her a lecherous smile that, she supposed, was meant to be s.e.xy.

Instead it irritated her. Sometimes she wondered what she saw in Josh. Ever since the fiasco up at Catwalk Point, she'd thought about breaking up with him. And then you'd be alone. So what? Being alone might be better than being embarra.s.sed by Josh, who sometimes seemed to act fourteen rather than his age. Maybe that was why she found the bodyguard so attractive. He was a grown-up. "You know, you could come over. Hang out. When Mom's there. We could study or watch TV."

"With the bodyguard dude, too? Sounds like a blast," he mocked, and shook out a cigarette from his pack on the dash. With a flick of his lighter, he lit up, then continued driving and rocking-out. Ca.s.sie flicked the b.u.t.t of her cigarette out the window. Being with Josh was making her nervous. He stopped at a minimart, bought them each a soda, and then cruised through the frozen streets, waving at friends who pa.s.sed, showing off in his tricked-out truck, doing not much of anything.

Ca.s.sie was bored out of her mind.

"If you came over, at least you could see my mom," she said, and it was her turn to lift an eyebrow.