Chapter 3
“I think we need to look at all the newcomers to town,” Cameron said as he faced his men the next morning.
“How new of newcomers?” Deputy Larry Brooks asked.
Cameron frowned thoughtfully. “Let’s say anyone who has moved to town within the last year or so. I also want somebody checking into anyone Mary Mathis does business with, vendors and services she utilizes and people who repair the café equipment.”
“You have a premonition or something that she’s our next victim?” Deputy John Mills asked as he moved a toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other.
“No, but I think we can all agree that these murders revolve around the café and that’s where our investigation should stay focused,” Cameron replied.
What he didn’t need to focus on was how soft her cheek had been when he’d touched it the night before, how he believed he’d seen desire flame up sharp and hot in the depths of her blue eyes. Wishful thinking, he mused as he also remembered how quickly she’d stepped back from him.
He dismissed these wayward thoughts and once again gazed at the men who worked for him. “Brent, I want you to check to see if any murders like these have occurred any place else in Oklahoma. If you find nothing, then expand the search to include Texas and Kansas. This killer is just too good for Candy Bailey to have been his first. Someplace he’s honed his craft and if we can find where, then maybe we can identify who.”
“Unless he’s a local,” Adam Benson said.
There was a moment of silence. Nobody wanted to believe that a killer walked among them, that somebody who had been born and raised in the small town was a cold-blooded murderer.
“Damn, but I hate this case,” Ben Temple said as he twirled a pen between his fingers as he broke the momentary silence.
“We also can’t rule out a female killer,” Cameron said. The room exploded as the deputies talked about the pros and cons of the possibility of a woman perp.
“I just don’t want to think about any woman I know being capable of doing something like this to another woman,” Adam said. “But I can’t forget it was a woman who tried to kill Courtney Chambers and take my brother’s baby from her.”
“And I don’t like the idea of one of our own home-grown men involved in this,” Brent said. “We’re a close-knit community. I know most every single man by name, have talked to them over a cup of coffee or been to their houses.”
By eight o’clock everyone had their assignments and had dispersed from the room. Only Adam remained behind. “You look exhausted and the day has barely begun,” he observed with a critical gaze at Cameron.
“I’m all right, just couldn’t sleep much last night.”
“I don’t think any of us are going to get a lot of sleep until this creep is behind bars.”
Cameron nodded. “How’s Melanie?”
Softness swept over Adam’s features. “She’s terrific. Her dance costume business is really starting to take off and she’s keeping busy with it. I’m trying to talk her into a Christmas wedding.”
“That’s great,” Cameron replied, truly pleased for the couple who had been to hell and back. Melanie had been a successful dancer in New York when idiopathic neuropathy and foot drop had landed her permanently in a wheelchair. Adam had moved into her upstairs apartment and the two had fallen in love.
Before their love could be fully realized Melanie had been kidnapped and left in a field to die. The perpetrator had been Deputy Jim Collins, one of Cameron’s best men, and Cameron would forever feel more than a bit of guilt for not seeing how sick Jim was, sick enough that he’d harbored an obsession that had turned into a sick rage against Melanie.
“What worries me is that our perp is somebody like Jim, somebody who wears the face of a friend or neighbor and easily hides the evil in his soul,” Cameron said thoughtfully.
Adam stood and clapped him on the shoulder. “Stop beating yourself up about Jim. He didn’t just fool you, he had us all fooled. We’re going to find this creep, Cameron. We’re all committed to finding him so we can give you back your quiet, beautiful town.” With these words he left the conference room.
Cameron remained seated, working over in his mind the duties he’d given his deputies, making sure that everything that had to be done was being done.
A million possibilities roared through his head. Could it be another waitress who was killing women she didn’t like working with? Was it perhaps a man who hated the fact that his wife worked at the café? Or was somebody trying to destroy the café itself?
Certainly Mary had already felt the effects of the first two murders. Several of her regular waitresses had quit working based on fear. Now, with Dorothy’s murder, he had a feeling she would lose more waitresses.
How long could she keep the café open with a dwindling staff? And why would anyone want the popular place that was the hub of the small town closed down?
Nothing about these murders made sense. No matter how he twisted what little facts he knew around in his head, there was no easy explanation to find, no answers haunting the edges of his consciousness.
Frustration drove him up from the table. Nothing would get accomplished by him sitting here thinking. He needed to do something in order to advance the investigation.
And he needed to find a home for Twinkie.
She was getting under his skin with her tiny kisses and happy dances. Whenever he sat anywhere in the house she managed to get into his lap and curl up with a contented sigh. He’d actually dressed her in a little furry leopard print dress this morning, worried that she might get too cold in the drafty old farm house where he lived.
He should have a bulldog or a German shepherd, if he was going to have a dog. Not some designer diva who already thought she owned not just his house, but him, as well.
With a change in the direction of his thoughts, he decided to head to the café for breakfast and to check out the crowd. While he ate a couple of eggs sunny-side up he might see somebody who piqued his interest as a potential suspect or find out something Mary had thought about while they’d been apart.
When he arrived at the café the breakfast rush was in full swing. The parking lot was almost full and most of the table space was taken. Cameron rarely sat at a table, preferring a stool at the counter where Mary served the customers.
Cameron moved to an empty stool and smiled at Mary, who looked tired and slightly overwhelmed by the amount of people inside.
A glance around the place let him know only three regular waitresses were working the large floor. Normally there were five or six during this time of the morning.
Mary greeted him with a cup of coffee and a forced smile. “We don’t usually see you here at this time of the day,” she said.
“You’re going to be seeing me a lot around here,” he replied. Her eyes were red-rimmed, as if she’d already been weeping that morning.
“Casing the joint?” Her smile didn’t quite reach the center of her eyes.
“Casing the customers,” he replied. “Are you doing okay?”
She nodded, the artificial light overhead sparkled in her pale blond hair, accentuated by the black Cowboy Café T-shirt that clung to her full breasts and emphasized her small waist. “Fine, although three of my waitresses called in sick this morning and I have a feeling their illness is going to be permanent.”
“They’ll come back once we solve the crime,” he said with an optimism he didn’t quite feel. His town would be scarred after this. People would talk for years to come about the reign of terror when good women working at the café