Page 4 of The Creekside Murder

Finn watched the waitress approach the bar and then planted his elbows on the table. “What did the cops and your CSI coworkers miss?”

Jessica plucked her cocktail napkin from the table and rummaged in the big bag on the seat beside her. Her hand emerged with a greeting card pinched between two fingers, covered by the napkin. She dropped it onto the table in frontof him. “I found this at Morgan’s memorial site, where her body was discovered.”

He eyed the card, adorned with purple and yellow flowers, the word “condolences” in fancy gold script across the front. He grabbed a knife and flicked open the card.

“Read it,” Jessica demanded.

He cleared his throat and read aloud. “Something old, something dead, something stolen, something red. So sorry you had to join the club, Morgan. Love, Tiffany H.”

Chapter Two

When the last word left Finn’s lips, Jessica clapped both hands over her mouth, the shock of hearing her sister’s name being connected to Morgan’s murder hitting her square in the chest all over again. She hadn’t imagined the words that had danced before her eyes out there in the woods.

Two lines formed between Finn’s eyebrows as he pinned the open card to the table with the knife. “Were the other cards there as pristine as this one?”

She eked out a breath between her lips. He’d realized the card’s importance instead of dismissing it. “No. The damp and dew had gotten to the other cards. When did the memorial form?”

“When the department removed the crime scene tape, about four days ago. This—” he nudged the card with the knife “—hasn’t been there that long.”

“Someone left it recently, maybe even this morning.” Jessica hunched her shoulders against the shiver weaving up her spine. She could’ve just missed the guy out there.

She flinched when the waitress appeared with their drinks. Jessica pinched the stem of the glass between her fingers and raised it to her lips as Finn waved off the waitress’s offer to pour his beer into a glass.

Closing her eyes, she sipped the wine, the crisp, bright flavor at odds with the subject between them. “What do you think?”

Finn took his time, studying the label on his bottle before taking a long drink. “It could be a tasteless joke.”

“What about that rhyme? What does that all mean? Something stolen? Red?”

“No clue.” He lifted his shoulders to his ears.

“D-do people around here still remember Tiffany’s murder?” Jessica had come to the realization years ago that other people had moved on from her sister’s homicide, even Ashley King and Denny Phelps, Tiffany’s best friend and boyfriend at the time. She didn’t have that luxury.

“Sure they do.” Finn took another pull from his beer. “It’s not like the campus has a murder every year, but they remember her as one of Avery Plank’s victims.”

“But join the club? Not Plank’s club.” She poked at the card with her fork. “Plank is in prison. He didn’t kill Morgan, so what club is this?”

“The murder club. You’re overthinking it, Jessica. Yeah, it’s creepy, it’s crude and rude, but it doesn’t mean anything.”

“You’re not a cop anymore, Finn. You’ve lost the instinct.” She swirled her wine in her glass.

“According to you, I never had that instinct.”

Her gaze flew to his face as her cheeks turned pink. “I was just striking out. You were the one who found Tiffany’s body, so I always connected you to the case. When the detectives wouldn’t listen to me, I turned my wrath on you.”

“Is that what you were doing?” He raised one eyebrow. “’Cuz I remember it differently. You hounded me, youplayed me, you stole from me, you compromised your own sister’s case.”

Burying her chin in her palm, she studied him as he took another sip of his beer. “I didn’t compromise the case. Law enforcement had tunnel vision for Avery Plank.”

“I don’t know what to tell you.” He spread his hands, a little calloused for an academic. “Plank confessed.”

She flicked her fingers in the air. “Serial killers always exaggerate their numbers. You know that. What if Plank was lying? What if my sister’s killer is still active…and he just hit again?”

“Ten years is a long time between kills,” he said.

“Could be any number of reasons for that.” She hunched forward, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “This could be a sick joke, but why bring Tiffany’s name up at all?”

Finn rasped his knuckles across the scruff on his strong jaw, and Jessica glanced down at her wine. Ten years was also a long time between conversations with Finn Karlsson. Back when Tiffany was murdered, Jessica’d had a hard time separating her rage and grief from her insane attraction to the young cop who’d found her sister’s body.

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