The thought that more people could die is already appropriately terrifying without it actually happening. Fear breeds fear, after all, but for some, fear breeds satisfaction.
That seems to be the only idea I have for this case. With Carlton working on locating any and all satanic groups nearby—which are apparently called “sects”—half of Holly Woods PD trying to find our missing people, and Tim getting a list of the symbols carved into their bodies so we can find out what they mean, so much is happening, but it feels like we’re doing nothing.
It’s been no time at all since we found the bodies. Not even twenty-four hours. If you blinked you’d miss that. I can barely remember what I’ve done since Jessica collapsed against Drake with the dramatic flair of a 1950’s Hollywood icon.
Call me suspicious, but an awful lot of this seems to revolve around the fair. Bek did mention that Dina White would be a good place to start since I’m looking for information. And there is the mysterious Alex…
Nodding, I pick the phone up, leave a message with Drake to tell him that I’m going to the fair so he knows where to find me once he’s done questioning Jessica, and grab my purse.
And the cupcake.
Always the cupcake.
“Dad, I don’t want to be rude, but this really isn’t a good time.” I’m sitting in my parked car in the fair’s parking lot field, my eyes focused on the field. It’s still marked off, and the tents are still covering the spaces where the bodies were found.
I wonder how many arrogant little teenage assholes will see how close they can get before they’re told where to go.
“I know, but your grandmother would like to remind you that you have to plan Amelia’s bachelorette party.”
Groaning, I drop my forehead onto my steering wheel. Ouch. That hurt. “When am I supposed to do that? Does the crazy, old bat not want me to sleep any time soon?”
I swear I can hear his shrug.
“Just passing on the message,” he says. “She said she wants to hear about your plans for it at dinner tomorrow night.”
“Yeah… There’s a strong reason to suggest I will become violently ill in the early hours of tomorrow morning and won’t be able to come. Apologize for me, will ya?”
“Noelle Bond,” Dad says firmly. Not angrily. Not annoyed. Just firmly. It’s his warning voice. I used to be very well acquainted with this tone. “You haven’t done a thing for the party, have you?”
I choose not to reply.
“You know murder won’t excuse you.”
I snort. “Yeah. When she finds out what kind of murders they are, she won’t want me near the house.”
Which is fine by me. Keeps me away from that damn creature that apparently has the hots for me.
“Noelle? Kind of murders? What do you mean?”
“Oh, my phone’s dying! Gotta go! Love you!” I scramble out quickly and hang up.
Oops.
I wasn’t supposed to say that.
Oh well. Sheriff Bates might be refusing to release the details to the media, but this is Holly Woods. I could fart right now and my mom would call within ten minutes asking if I have indigestion or something. Then she’d put a bottle of Tums in my mailbox just to be sure.
The point: We have twenty-four hours at most to find as much information as we can before the gossip brigade gets wind of the details.
And, by gossip brigade, I mean my grandmother. Since Nonna has been going to the bingo hall more and more often lately, she has the dirt to dish on just about everyone.
Mrs. Ruth who runs the inn on the outskirts of town? She’s sixty if she’s a day, but apparently, she’s passing some time with some young man from Austin in his thirties. I’m calling bullshit on the age. Actually, I’m calling bullshit on the rumor. I don’t want to think about elderly people having sex.
Not that they shouldn’t. I mean, you go, you old foxes. You pop that Viagra and bulk-buy your lube. You keep those machines well-oiled. Everyone needs a good, intense orgasm once in a while.
Just don’t make me think about it. Please. If I think about that, I have to consider that—
Nope. I’m not going there. Instead, I’m gonna grab my purse, lock my car, and see if I can find Dina White.
Maybe stop for a hot dog. Because, apparently, I’m really bad at timing my meals, and it’s not even five p.m. yet. Really, it’s no wonder my pants don’t button up without a little sucking in.
Sigh.
It’s hard to be a cupcake-loving, treadmill-hating woman these days.
It’s either that or I’ve been lied to my whole life and calories aren’t in food. They’re, in fact, tiny bastards who eat my clothes.
If I choose the latter, is that denial? Eh, probably. Can I afford denial? Moreover, can I afford to replace my extensive collection of pants?
Aha. I know that one. Yes. Yes, I can, thanks to my savings account. But do I want to? Well, shopping is good… But it also means that I have to go into stores to try them on for the exact size, and going into stores means I have to talk to people in my free time.
Yeah, no… That’s not gonna happen.
And, obviously, I just walked right by Dina’s stall.
Well, fuck. Now, I’m gonna look like a dick if I suddenly turn and approach her. Walking around the whole fair it is. Maybe I should get a… No, no. If I get a hot dog, the calories might eat my clothes again tonight.
Alex’s stall catches my eye, and I hesitate for a second before approaching it. The things laid out are exactly the same as they were when Drake introduced us two days ago. Boy, I kinda wish he were here now.
Oh, for the love of a fucking cupcake.
Am I seriously whimpering internally that I have to go talk to a big, scary man all by myself?
I am Noelle fucking Bond and I am not scared of Alex Whatever His Last Name Is.
Okay. Maybe a smidge. But not enough to stop me from going over there.
He’s finishing wrapping a purchase in tissue paper and inserting it into a small box when I stop in front of the stall. My eyes fall to the rosary beads again. Someone should tell Nonna about these. Then again, she’d probably buy every string of beads, wrap them up for us for Christmas, and guilt us into using them to pray for our sins.
Sometimes, I think she’s still only alive because we love her. That and, if we killed her, we’d have a damn big sin to beg for forgiveness over. It’s easier to ask Him to forgive the thoughts.
Not that I do. I’d never do anything but ask if I did that every time.
“Nice, huh?”
I snap my head up at his words, and my hand flies to my chest. Dammit, here I go, stuck in my own head again.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” He clears his throat, his dark eyes penetrating.
I offer what I hope is a gentle smile. “Don’t worry. I could be getting drunk with fairies for all of my concentration today.”
He laughs. It’s a rich sound, one that makes you take notice. “Yes, I’d imagine seeing a dead body would do that to a person.”
Shock freezes me. I stare at him for a moment before I pull my hand off the table and wet my lips. “What?”
“The missing girl? You saw her, right? With Detective Nash.”
“Oh. Yes. I have a tendency to stick my nose in places it shouldn’t be. I’m working on it.” I drop my eyes back to the beads. “You said these came from Italy?”
“Sicily,” he answers, stepping up opposite me and picking up one particularly pretty string.
The beads are varying shades of blue, each one separated by silver. The cross on the end is intricately designed in the traditional Catholic manner.
“I try to go every time I visit my family,” he says. “There’s something about handcrafted rosaries that people love.”
I nod in agreement. “My grandmother would have a kitten if she saw these. Actually, no. She’d have a whole litter.” With any luck, one could grow up and eat Gio the parrot.
“Your grandmother is Catholic?”
“She’s the female Pope.” I snort then pause. “I don’t mean that disrespectfully. I’m just not as…enthusiastic…as she is.”