Page 62 of Run for Her Life
Zoe opened her mouth when one of the teenager’s voices cut through her train of thought.
“No, listen, I’m telling you. This is just like what happened in 1995,” a girl said, leaning forward, eyes wide.
Across from her, a girl in an oversized hoodie rolled her eyes, sipping her milkshake. “Dude, you weren’t even alive in 1995. It was a fire in the haunted house. Not random women going missing.”
Zoe and Aiden locked eyes. She strained her ears to listen to the conversation.
“I know, but I’ve been listening to that podcast—Buried Hollow.They’re covering this and said that the second woman was found in Fun House, and her uncle, Michael, was a victim of the original fire.”
The third teen, scrolling through his phone, nudged his screen toward them. “Tell me this isn’t creepy. Someone on Reddit has a thread tracking down all the family members of the fire victims.”
The girl took the phone and huffed. “Why do they even care so much?” She tossed the phone back. “It was an accident decades ago. This town needs a hobby.”
“What if someone’s coming after the descendants?” The first boy’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Or—” He grinned. “Do you think I can predict the next victim?”
“You’ve been watching too many Netflix documentaries,” the girl muttered, pushing her fries toward him.
The boy grinned but didn’t argue.
“Everyone’s an armchair sleuth now,” Zoe tsked. Her phone vibrated. “Just got back the particulate evidence from Jackie’s clothes.” Her eyes scanned the report. She wasn’t expecting much—Jackie’s autopsy report was standard. But then her eyes caught something unusual buried in the trace evidence section. “They found a canine hair sample on her jeans. Silver-gray, approximately two centimeters. A borzoi breed.”
His eyebrows furrowed. “A borzoi? That’s not a breed you see every day. Expensive. Rare. Selective owners.”
A thought itched in the back of her mind. “Jackie doesn’t own a dog. It must have come from the killer, then?”
“You know who could afford a dog like that? David Harrington.” A slow smirk curled at the corner of his mouth.
“We didn’t see any dogs at his place.”
“Did you see how big their property was? Can we look at the city’s pet ownership registry?”
“We’d need a subpoena. No time for that.” Her thoughts were tumbling ahead. “I have an idea.” She did a quick search for pet groomers in the area. There was only one. “If this guy owns an expensive dog like a borzoi, he’s definitely taking him to a groomer.” The phone rang thrice before an elderly lady answered.
“Madeleine’s Canine Boutique. How can I help you?” She sounded like someone who wore cashmere cardigans and pearl necklaces.
“Hi there!” Zoe said cheerfully. “I was thinking of getting a borzoi and wanted to know if you guys work with that breed. I’d like to, you know, make sure I find the right groomer before I commit.”
“Yes, we groom borzois, but we’re appointment-only. And they’re not a breed you just… pick up on a whim.”
“Oh, I know. I’ve done my research,” she said smoothly. “I actually ran into someone in town with a stunning borzoi. Notsure of his name, but the dog had this incredible silver-gray coat. Thought I’d call around and see where he might take it for grooming.”
The silence dragged for more than a second. “A man, huh? Well, there’s only one borzoi in Pineview Falls. Beautiful animal. His owner is one of our regulars, very particular about how he likes it done.”
“Do you mind giving me his name?” she asked innocently. “I’ve had bad experiences with groomers in the past and would love to just chat with him about his experience. I hope you understand.”
“Of course, of course! We understand the importance of references… ah, here’s his name.” Zoe didn’t know what to expect but then the lady said the name.
“Adam Deader.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
The air smelled of stale coffee at the overworked station. Zoe was convinced that the substation had been barely active before she’d arrived armed with a riddle that led her to the first murder victim of Pineview Falls in many years. The doors creaked, the windows jammed, and the refrigerator in the break room constantly hummed. The substation was brimming with activity. Deputies from the neighboring towns had pitched in to find Amy Andrews.
Her picture was pinned to the bulletin board. Zoe stared at her unremarkable face. The printer under the board spat out missing person posters. She picked one up and frowned at the fading ink and poor paper quality under her fingertips. It would wash out in the rain, which was a frequent occurrence. Outside sheets of rain pounded against the pavement. Water cascaded from awnings, dripped from the edges of street signs, and splattered onto windshields of cars in the parking lot. The town was painted in smears of gray.
“He’s waiting for us.” Aiden appeared.
Zoe gathered the printout and tucked it under her arm. Upon entering the makeshift interrogation room, she was immediately put off by Adam.
