Cold Case at Camden Crossing. Rita Herron

in a closet or upstairs, ready to attack. He slowly closed his hand around the bedroom closet doorknob and yanked it open, his gun raised. It was empty except for the stacks of old shoes, hats and clothing.

      “Stay here while I check the upstairs.”

      “No, I’m going with you,” Tawny-Lynn whispered.

      He gave her a sharp look, then decided maybe it was best if she did follow him, in case the intruder was hiding in the storage shed outside. He didn’t want to leave her alone.

      They crossed back through the room, then he tiptoed up the steps, but the wooden boards creaked beneath his weight. The first room was Peyton’s, still decorated like it had been years ago. For a moment, grief hit him as an image of Ruth sitting cross-legged on Peyton’s bed flashed in front of his eyes.

      Heaving a breath to refocus, he yanked open the closet door, but all he found were Peyton’s clothes. Jeans and T-shirts, a prom dress.

      The softball cleats gave him another pain in his chest. No wonder the parents of the three girls who’d died couldn’t forget.

      No one should have to bury a child.

      He kept his gun poised as he pivoted, Tawny-Lynn’s choppy breathing echoing behind him as he entered the hall and inched to her room.

      He paused at the doorway, anger bolting through him at the sight of the mirror.

      “What the hell?”

      “That was there when I first arrived,” Tawny-Lynn whispered.

      He swung around to her. “What? Why didn’t you tell me?”

      Tawny-Lynn shrugged. “I had no idea how long it had been there.”

      Chaz cursed, then strode forward to examine it. He studied the writing, then took a sniff. “Looks like blood but it’s dry, so no smell. I’ll take samples and send to the crime lab.”

      Tawny-Lynn nodded, then he stepped inside the bathroom and cursed again. “Was this here, too?”

      Her eyes widened in shock as she entered. Then she shook her head in denial.

      Chaz was disgusted at the sight.

      The walls were covered in more blood. Fresh blood.

      Whoever had broken in had written another message on the walls.

      

      

      We don’t want you here.

      Leave or die.

      * * *

      THE SHERIFF WAS inside Boulder’s house with the girl. Dammit to hell and back.

      Chaz asked too many questions. He just wouldn’t give up investigating his sister’s disappearance and the bus wreck that had taken those girls’ lives.

      Why couldn’t he let it go?

      It was over. Years ago.

      But now Tawny-Lynn was back.

      What if she remembered something while she was in town? What if she remembered him?

      His face? That he’d been there?

      No, Tawny-Lynn had sustained a head injury that had robbed those memories, wiped them out and given her a clean slate. She couldn’t remember now.

      If she did, she’d have to die.

      Chapter Four

      Chaz studied the bathroom, his anger mounting. Tawny-Lynn hadn’t done anything to earn this kind of abusive treatment. Not certain he believed her earlier statement about the message, he pressed her again. “Why didn’t you call when you found that first message?”

      Tawny-Lynn shrugged. “I know you and your family hate me.”

      “I’m not my family,” Chaz said. “I’m the law, and no one is harassed or threatened on my watch without me taking it seriously.”

      Tawny-Lynn averted her eyes as if she didn’t know how to respond.

      “I’m going to take samples and look for prints.”

      “In here or all through the house?”

      He grimaced as he considered the question. “I’ll start in here.”

      “With all this dust and clutter, it would probably be a nightmare to do every room.”

      She was right. “I’ll check the doors and major surfaces. But it’ll take me a while. Let me grab my kit from the car.”

      “Okay. I’ll bring in the rest of the cleaning supplies.”

      “I’ll give you a hand. But I’d rather you not clean anything until I look around.”

      He followed her down the stairs, noting how fragile and tired she looked. No telling what time she’d gotten up this morning, and then she’d driven for hours and walked into this disaster.

      It took them three trips to bring everything inside. Chaz retrieved his kit and decided to check the doors and kitchen first, so Tawny-Lynn could at least clean up the kitchen enough to prepare a meal or make coffee in the morning.

      She watched him as he shined a flashlight along the doorway and kitchen counter and took a couple of prints on the back doorknob and screen. There was so much dust on the piles of newspapers and table that he didn’t see any prints. Besides, there would have been no reason for the intruder to touch the empty liquor and beer bottles Boulder had thrown into the heap in the corner

      “I’m done in here if you want to start cleaning this room while I’m upstairs.”

      “Thanks. I don’t think I could eat anything in this house until it’s fumigated.”

      He chuckled. “Your father obviously never threw anything away.”

      “Or took out the garbage.” She grabbed a trash bag and began to sort the cans and bottles into one bag for recycling, while he headed to the stairs.

      He yanked on gloves and set to work. On the chance that the intruder hadn’t worn gloves and had touched the railing, he examined it, found a print and lifted it. Then he realized it was probably Tawny-Lynn’s and asked for a sample of hers for elimination purposes when he sent the others to the lab.

      Upstairs, he scraped off a sample of the blood on the dresser mirror and dusted the gilded frame, but found nothing. Then he moved to the bathroom and checked the sink’s countertop, but if someone had touched it, they’d wiped it clean.

      He took a generous sampling of the blood on the wall, hoping to learn something from it. Was it human blood?

      He photographed the writing, then took pictures of the message on the mirror, as well. Maybe a handwriting expert could analyze it. And if he had a suspect, he could compare samples. The dot over the i in the world Die had a curly tip. The writing also slanted downward at an angle and looked as if someone had jabbed at the wall out of anger.

      He paused in the bedroom, his mind ticking as he wondered how the intruder had known this room was Tawny-Lynn’s. It was certainly not as frilly as Peyton’s, and there were dozens of sports posters on the wall, but no nameplate or picture of Tawny-Lynn to give it away. A plain navy comforter covered the antique iron bed, a teddy bear and rag doll sat on the bookshelf above a sea of mystery books, and CDs were stacked in a CD holder by a scarred pine desk.

      Which suggested that the intruder had known the family well enough to know which room belonged to her.

      And that he or she might have been in the house before.

      * * *

      TAWNY-LYNN RAKED trash and old food off the kitchen counter and into the garbage bag. She’d already filled up three bags and was going to need a truck to haul away the junk once she finished with the house.

      Exhaustion