A Deeper Grave. Debra Webb

upset him more than he was already. When they were a couple of yards away, she asked, “About Fern?”

      Marla nodded. “My oldest said Fern has been at war with several students at her old school. She was...” Her voice stalled and her lips quivered. “Receiving a lot of hate messages on social media.”

      Marla had three children, all girls. The oldest was about the same age as Fern. “How long have these problems with the other kids been going on?”

      Based on her social media accounts, Fern had a love-hate relationship with most of her friends the past few months. She had made quite a list of enemies. Bobbie had interviewed her principals and teachers at both the old school and the new one. The sixteen-year-old’s recent behavior was completely at odds with the rest of her school experience. She had always been a straight-A student. Her teachers loved her, or at least they had until the real trouble started about three months ago. Fern’s behavior became erratic and angry outbursts were suddenly the norm. Her grade-point average slipped. She started to dress and speak differently as if she wanted to be someone else.

      “My daughter said Fern confided that the school was threatening to expel her.”

      Bobbie had learned as much from the school counselor. “Was there anyone in particular Fern couldn’t get along with?”

      Marla shrugged. “I have no idea. I really can’t believe she changed so much. Six months ago she was the sweetest, most thoughtful girl you would ever meet. And so smart. Suddenly she was sporting all those body piercings and wearing black and using horrible language. I can’t imagine what happened to make her turn so rebellious and mean-spirited.” Her lips trembled and tears welled in her eyes. “Or maybe I can. God only knows what the kids have suffered with what their parents have been going through. I’m ashamed to say we’ve only seen them twice in the last year. Heather and Nigel were always so busy and then all the legal trouble started.” She shook her head. “I shouldn’t have allowed that much time to pass between visits.”

      “We all get busy sometimes,” Bobbie offered. “You spoke to Heather regularly?”

      “One of us called the other every three or four weeks. She never even hinted there were problems at home...beyond what’s in the news obviously.” She frowned. “Fern’s problems at school couldn’t be the reason for...this. These are children we’re talking about.” Her lips worked for a moment before she managed to say the rest. “You don’t think Fern or one of her classmates had anything to do with their deaths.”

      Fern was missing. There was no sign of forced entry into the Parker home and no indication of foul play related to her disappearance, both of which didn’t look good. On top of that the girl had issues at home and at school. She wouldn’t be the first teenager to murder her parents, but Bobbie was relatively certain the killer wasn’t Fern or one of her friends. As true as that was she wasn’t prepared to pass along those conclusions yet. The bottom line was the students Fern angered had parents. There were few things more ferocious than a parent determined to protect his or her offspring.

      “In truth it’s too early to say. We’ll operate under the assumption she’s a victim until we have evidence to suggest otherwise,” Bobbie hedged.

      Randolph Weller’s words rang in her ears. She ignored that warning voice. She had an obligation to conduct the investigation of this case the same way she did all others. Weller’s input would not be a part of the process until she had reason to believe it held merit. The whole idea of a consortium of serial killers was over the top to say the least. She hadn’t decided whether or not he was playing her somehow.

      “Six months ago I would have said there was no possibility Fern would be involved in anything like this.” Marla glanced at the door of her nephew’s room. “Now, I don’t know.” Her gaze rested on Bobbie’s once more. “Is it true that Heather was running a...sex service of some sort disguised as a dating service?”

      Bobbie wanted to tread carefully there. “This investigation has a lot of unknowns, ma’am. We’re nowhere near ready to say who was doing what. Give us time to get the facts straight before we pass them along to you. Frankly, that aspect of the case is more the FBI’s purview.” The pain in Marla’s expression prompted Bobbie to add, “We both know that sometimes people do things they don’t want to do for reasons we might not readily see or understand.”

      “The FBI questioned me about Nigel.” Marla shook her head as if trying to deny the ugliness. “I can’t believe he robbed all those people. We’ve known him for twenty years and he always seemed so nice. Heather never said a word.” She drew in a deep shuddering breath. “I’m just glad our parents didn’t live to see this.”

      Bobbie understood Marla meant the illegal activities the Parkers were allegedly involved in and the vicious murders, not to mention a missing child. Whatever the age or the circumstances of death the truth was no parent wanted to survive a child. She knew this better than most.

      A scream rent the air. Bobbie whipped around and rushed toward Sage’s room, her hand on the butt of her Glock. The uniform stationed at his door was already at his bedside.

      As soon as Bobbie’s brain assimilated the fact that the boy was okay, she analyzed the scene. A male dressed in scrubs, a nurse she presumed, stood back from the end of the bed, his hands out to his sides, patient chart on the floor as if he’d dropped it. A plastic caddy that contained a blood pressure cuff and other medical tools sat on the foot of the bed. Sage was curled into a protective ball as close to the headboard as he could get, the sheet pulled up to his chin.

      “I just need to take his vitals,” the obviously shaken man said, looking from Bobbie to the uniform.

      “Let’s see your badge,” Bobbie ordered.

      Marla hurried around the bed to comfort her nephew. “He’s been doing this since I got here. Every time a man enters the room, he gets upset.”

      Thomas Brewer, LPN. Bobbie compared the photo to the man whose face was a couple shades paler than the one in the photo. A match. She passed the badge back to him. “Why don’t we have a female nurse take care of him?”

      Brewer bent down and picked up the chart. “I’ll make a note in his chart. I don’t know why they didn’t do that already if this happened before.” He reached for the caddy and Sage gasped. His aunt made soothing sounds and smoothed his ruffled hair.

      Bobbie nodded to the officer. He followed Brewer into the corridor and returned to his post. “You don’t need to be afraid, Sage. We’ll keep you safe.”

      Brown eyes peered up at her. “That’s what my daddy said.”

      Bobbie moved closer to the bed. She chose her words carefully. “Did something scare you before what happened while you were in the attic?”

      He dropped his gaze to the sheet but he nodded. “The other day I was at home alone and someone came in the house.”

      Bobbie’s instincts nudged her. “This is very important, Sage. Can you remember what day this happened?” She found herself holding her breath as she waited for his answer.

      “Monday. Mrs. Snodgrass does the grocery shopping on Mondays. I was supposed to be at school.” He shrugged skinny shoulders. “There was a big test and I forgot to study.”

      “So you decided to stay home?” Bobbie understood that feeling. After her mother died, she’d felt the need to hide from the big things like a test at school and the birthday party down the street. Her mother had always taken her homemade cookies to neighborhood parties. Bobbie hadn’t wanted to tell anyone who asked that her mother couldn’t bring cookies because she was buried in the graveyard by the church.

      “But, Sage,” his aunt protested, “you’ve always made honor roll. You’ve never been afraid of a test.” Marla looked to Bobbie and shook her head, tears glistening in her eyes.

      “Has someone at school been bothering you?” Bobbie remembered that part, too. Kids could be so damned cruel. Who you gonna tell, Bobbie Sue? Your momma’s dead. She