Page 24 of Dirty Valentine
The thought hung between us as we pulled into our driveway, the motion-sensor lights illuminating the three-story structure that rose majestically from the cliff like something carved from the landscape itself.It was a modern-day log cabin of polished golden logs and glass that had become our sanctuary, perched on the edge of the Potomac with towering pines surrounding us like natural guardians.But tonight, even home didn’t feel completely safe.Somewhere out there, a killer was still free, and we were just beginning to understand how deep this conspiracy ran.
“Come on,” Jack said, taking my hand as we made another dash through the rain.“Let’s get inside and see what we can dig up about our five families.Something tells me the real story is going to be even uglier than what we’ve seen so far.”
As we reached the porch, I realized I was looking forward to diving into the research.Because somewhere in the historical records and family trees, a killer had left tracks.And by morning, we were going to start following them.
CHAPTEREIGHT
Jack’s officewelcomed us like an old friend, all warm lamplight and the lingering scent of the cedar logs that made up the cabin’s walls.I kicked off my wet shoes and padded across the Persian rug in my bare feet, already mentally organizing the research we needed to tackle.
The office was one of my favorite rooms in the house—as spacious as our living room but infinitely more functional.The stone fireplace dominated one wall, flanked by built-in bookshelves that held everything from Virginia legal codes to Jack’s collection of Civil War histories.Floor-to-ceiling windows lined the west wall, though tonight they were covered by the automated blackout shades for privacy.
The business end of the room featured Jack’s L-shaped desk and the conference table constructed from a restored barn door, but the real star was the electronic whiteboard system that covered two corner walls.The touchscreen interface could display multiple databases simultaneously while allowing us to annotate and cross-reference information in real time.
“Coffee or tea?”Jack asked, already moving toward the small wet bar tucked into one corner of the room.
“Coffee,” I said automatically, then reconsidered.“Actually, make it tea.I’ve had enough coffee today.”
Jack’s movements stilled for just a moment, and I saw him glance at my still-flat stomach with that mixture of wonder and protectiveness that had been appearing more frequently since we’d learned about the baby.
“Tea it is,” he said softly.“You want to get started on the murder board while I put the kettle on?”
“Already on it.”I was already touching the screen to activate it, the familiar blue glow illuminating the room as the system came online.
I started with Thomas Whitman’s DMV photo in the center of the board, then added the crime-scene photos Cole had uploaded to the database.Even seeing them again, the elaborate staging struck me as both theatrical and deeply personal.This wasn’t random violence—it was a message.
“What are you thinking?”Jack asked, setting a steaming mug of Earl Grey at my elbow.
“I’m thinking our killer has a serious flair for the dramatic.Look at this staging—the careful positioning on Bridget Ashworth’s grave, the historical re-creation, even the timing.This person wants us to understand the connection to the past.”
“The question is whether they’re using history to confuse the scene and make us chase after things that have nothing to do with anything,” Jack said.“Even the witchcraft angle for that matter.At first I thought maybe it was some creepy satanic ritual, but after looking at the scene I’m not so sure.I worked a case in DC when I was on SWAT that dealt with black magic and the occult.It’s not something I’ll ever forget.This is nothing like that.”
“Creepy,” I said, shuddering.
“You have no idea.”
“It’s certainly not a coincidence that Thomas Whitman is a descendant to one of those newly marked graves.Someone connected dots somewhere.We just don’t know our history.”
“Yeah, I don’t remember Mrs.Vogle teaching any of this stuff in seventh-grade history.”
I grinned, thinking of the sturdy and hard-of-hearing Mrs.Vogle.“’Cause she was superstitious.When we got to the witch trials section of Virginia history she kept crossing herself and kept assuring us there was no such thing as real witches.”
“That’s because my class scarred her for life,” Jack said.“Dickie and Vaughn put some black horsehair from one of the mares on the farm on her desk and sprinkled a ring of salt around her desk.Then Eddie swore up and down he saw the ghost of Bridget Ashworth and that it had to be her hair, and Mrs.Vogle believed him because it was Eddie.”
My eyes were wide with disbelief.I knew of the prank of course.Everyone in school had heard what had happened.But this was the first time I’d heard who’d been behind it.I should have guessed.
“And Eddie never got in trouble,” I said, understanding how things how gotten so out of hand.Eddie had always been a straight arrow.Teachers loved him, and if Eddie said something it was as good as true.
“Of course, Eddie felt so guilty after he did it he had to go to the bathroom and throw up.Ended up missing two days of school because he made himself sick.”
“Punishment enough, I guess,” I said, laughing.
I pulled up the database search function and began entering the names from the marked graves.“Let’s find out who these people really were.”
The search results began populating the screen, and I felt my eyebrows climbing toward my hairline as the family information filled the display.
“Well, well,” I said, pointing at the Blackwood family tree.“Here’s our friend Richard Blackwood in all his glory.No wonder he got so bent out of shape at that historical society meeting.
Jack leaned over my shoulder, and I caught a whiff of his aftershave mixed with the lingering scent of rain from our clothes.“Richard Blackwood has always been a hothead.He sits on the historical society board and several other committees around town, likes to throw his weight around and remind everyone who his family is.Patricia Whitman said he went volcanic when Thomas presented his findings—screaming about libel and destroying family reputations.”
